Clowning is a Serious Business
by A.A. Pessimal
Summary: The Guild of Fools, Joculators and Minstrels is a forbidding place and a closed world where everyone hears rumors but nobody, other than Fools, sees the reality. Until now. A sort of sequel to "Nature Studies".
1. Chapter 1

_**The serious business of foolery….**_

A new fanfic set in the Guild of Fools and Joculators. It picks up the plot from the end of _**Nature Studies**_ and offers an outsider's insight into education at the Fools' Guild. Well, the Fools' Guild had to be written, and what better way than through the eyes of outsiders who find themselves sucked in as the Guild reluctantly opens its doors to outside scrutiny...

We begin with a discussion between the feared Doctor Whiteface, Lord of Misrule at the Guild of Fools and Joculators, and Howondalandian Assassin Johanna Smith-Rhodes. Reproduced and edited slightly from my fanfic _**Nature Studies.**_

* * *

"Please explain how this, ah, _lion-taming_, works, Miss Smith-Rhodes. Although I have reservations about the _novel_ and the _innovative,_ the described performance is something I find very intriguing indeed!"

"There is no mystery, Doctor." she said. "It has been known for a long time in Howondaland, thet the creck of a whip close to the ears of a large feral cat is a noise they cennot endure end seek to escepe from. I do not believe it is cruel, and I am setisfied it causes no permanent demege to their ears, or else I would not do it. You simply creck the whip so thet they flee from the noise in the direction in which you wish them to go."

Johanna paused, and added the other half of the secret.

"It helps if you can rediate strength, confidence, end purpose of mind, so thet they are deterred from ettecking. A skilled prectitioner, like my old _opie_, she could make a lion sit, or lie, or stend on its hindlegs, es she chose! I hev to edmit thet et first I misunderstood the clown Bonzo's intentions, but I cen see now thet this could be made into a circus show. Especially in terms of leotards, spengly tights, high-heeled boots, end a woman confident enough in herself to wear them in public!"

Doctor Whiteface nodded.

"You may be of assistance to me." he said. "With Lord Downey's permission, of course. You may be aware that we have been following the educational revolution with some interest? The Thieves' School has always, seemingly, admitted girls. You yourself are a result of the Assassins' School going co-educational. You were one of the first four women admitted to the Guild as full licenced Assassins. Since then, you have brought the first class of female students from admission to graduation."

Doctor Whiteface expelled a sigh.

"Following consultation with Lord Vetinari, our Fools' School has been convinced that we should admit a limited number of girl pupils. We will therefore be admitting fifty young ladies very soon. Just as soon as the, er, _arrangements_, can be finalised."

Doctor Whiteface sighed again, as if this was something not completely of his own choosing.

"Since we assimilated the Conjurors' Guild, on the grounds that this is a time-honoured conservative entertainment medium which has remained unchanged in its essentials for several hundred years, and therefore perfectly suited to take its place alongside foolery and clowning** (1), **we have had to accept that every conjuror worthy of the name requires his girl assistant. There is also an ongoing need for tightrope walkers and trapeze artists, as well as knife-throwers' assistants. Therefore the girl pupils at the Fools' School will ultimately be training for these, ah, _supporting _positions. The thought occurs to me that your new discipline of, ah, _lion-taming_, should be developed by us, after fast-tracking through the usual acceptance procedures…"

"How fest is fest, Doctor?" Johanna asked him.

"The Council of Mirth meets on Tuesday. I will instruct them that we _will_ be teaching lion-taming to the new girl pupils. By three o'clock on Tuesday, it will have been agreed. I would like to invite you to work with us, as a visiting lecturer, say once per week? It may be difficult for you, with all your other commitments…"

Johanna had thought long and hard about the extra commitment a half-day a week at the Fools' Guild would entail. She was flattered to have been asked, and realised that from an old-time misogynistic Guild such as the Fools, the offer was a high honour indeed. And she realised from her own experience with the Assassins' Guild School that when a hitherto all-male institution went co-educational, it took a lot of work and goodwill to make it work. It was not a change that could be accomplished overnight. The Assassins would not have managed it in time for that first intake of girl pupils without a lot of friendly advice and generously given help from the Thieves' Guild School, previously the only educational establishment in the City to be genuinely co-educational and equal-access.

Now it was the turn of the Assassins' Guild to pass on that hard-won experience to the latest male-only bastion to fall to equal opportunities. Granted, the Fools were not going for full equal numbers, at least just yet, and it still clung to the belief that women would be no use as Clowns or Jesters because they lacked any sort of discernable sense of humour. It would probably take another two or three manifestations of Doctor Whiteface before girl pupils were given a crack at Clowning. No, it was training girls from the age of eleven or twelve in the, ah, _soft skills_ required to be a conjuror's assistant or a knife-thrower's partner; or, where they would be allowed star billing in their own right, as stunt-riders, tightrope walkers, trapeze artists, not to mention the new experimental discipline of _lion-taming_.

In amongst all this, the girl pupils would of course receive the same standard education in literacy, numeracy, foreign languages, liberal arts, and Domestic Science, as girl pupils at any comparable school. This mirrored practice at the Assassins' Guild school: while all lessons were slanted towards the fact the pupils were students of the dark art of inhumation, only half of them directly dealt with the professional skills necessary to make an Assassin. The rest, especially in the first four years of education, offered the same broad curriculum to be found at any senior school. This was broadly similar to practice at the Thieves' Guild School, although older Thieves, more set in their ways and their illiteracy, bemoaned the move towards the pupils learning useless things like _history_ and _literature _and _"speaking in foreign", _when they should be out there perfecting their cosh-work in dark alleys and learning how to Extract Money With Menaces.

Other institutions, such as the Builders' Guild School and the Institute of Technology (formerly the Artisans' Guild School) also performed this necessary balancing act, between a general and a specific trade-related education. Although the Builders' Guild School still prevaricated over taking in girls, citing the plumbing as a problem, know what I mean, squire? Tricky problem, catering for women with their strange need for all sorts of things you don't get in a mens' toilet, guv'nor.**(2)** _Like basic cleanliness and regular cleaning, _Johanna thought. She'd visited the Builders' School with a Teachers' Guild delegation, and had shuddered. Miss Penelope Frout, headmistress of the Frout Academy for Inquiring Young Minds, had fainted on the spot when confronted with the Builders' privvies. Mr Gregson, the Builders' Guild leader, had mildly remarked that this was good training for the lads, as some of the bogs, sorry, toilet facilites, on sites were pretty basic, and besides, you don't want the skiving buggers sitting in there all day smoking and playing cards when there was work to be done. So you don't make them too comfortable, miss, know what I'm saying?

Johanna sighed. She was a Licenced Assassin. In order to teach she had also been required to take out Teachers' Guild membership. Latterly, she had saved the life of Commander Vimes in unique circumstances. Vimes had responded by giving her the right to call him "Mister Vimes", and signing her up as a Watch special constable. So she also carried a Watch badge with her and performed duties with them as and when needed. She was also trained to carry out basic emergency medical and surgical procedures if no doctor or Igor were available. So this meant she was an associate member of the Doctors' Guild, as any Assassin trained in field medicine had to be.

And along with the delegated female teachers from the Assassins' and Thieves' Guilds who were helping the Fools' Guild get ready for its first female pupils, she now had to face possibly the severest, direst, most distasteful, ordeal since the night she had completed her Final Exam and graduated with Full Black.

_This is getting silly. _she thought. _And not in a nice way. In a Clowns' Guild sort of way. Ag. _

On that August day, she was taking the ordeals – well, the tests – that if successfully completed, would earn her a fifth membership badge as an Associate Tomfool.

Grimly, Johanna wrapped herself in the mid-calf length overcoat, despite the August heat. The _verdammte_ coat was going to come off only when necessary, the merest instant before her big performance, and it would go back on again immediately afterwards. A Clown delegated to provide hospitality tapped her on the shoulder and offered a drink. Despite a dry throat, Johanna made herself take just enough to moisten her mouth. Dressed like this, anything else was courting trouble. Big trouble.

Some time before, Doctor Whiteface had spoken to them of the need for his teaching staff to have at least honorary Guild membership, and that advancing them to the sixth grade of Tomfool (Affiliate), one higher than most students attained, would preserve the necessary teacher-pupil relationship. He had handed out sheets of paper advising the ladies to choose one discipline from Column A and one from Column B and work for proficiency in both, after which they would be judged by a panel of senior Fools and Jesters through public performance in the permanent marquee.

"I understand you all have busy schedules, ladies, but six months should be ample. My staff will of course be on hand to advise and give lessons."

"Well!" Joan Sanderson-Reeves had erupted. "You would think the dratted man would accept we're doing him a favour! Now he wants us to train as _clowns_?"

"The Assassin is at home anywhere, in any garb, in any society, and can blend into any environment seamlessly and easily." somebody quoted.

Joan fixed the speaker with her best classroom glare. As this was directed at another teacher, it had minimal effect.

"Well, yes, but I doubt whoever wrote the Concordat had _clowns_ in mind!"

Betty Richardson shrugged, allowing Joan's diamond glare to pass harmlessly over her. She taught Economics for Thieves, and was a veteran of many a hard classroom battle. A disapproving glare that had caused even Sam Vimes to blink was something she, as another old-time classroom monster, was immune to.

"Read the list, Joan. Whiteface is making it easy for us. He's put knife-throwing in Column A, look. You're _good_ at that. We all learn it. All we have to do is to throw knives like Fools, and not like Thieves or Assassins."

She paused. Then added, doubtfully,

"Assassins. Knife-throwing. The essence of doing it the Fool way is that the target stays alive afterwards for the next performance. . Has anyone thought this through, or is it just me?"

There was a tricky, thoughtful, silence.

"If I volunteer to be your target and you tie me to the revolving wooden wheel, then I want it clearly understood that you _miss _with every knife!" said Alice Band, firmly.

Betty breathed out. "I can see problems here. With Assassins. And knife-throwing. The trick is, you've got to be able to _miss _by just so much!"

Johanna nodded. Throwing knives to miss went against every professional instinct she had. This was going to take some work.

"What else is on the list… escapology. Well, that's not hard. We're all taught padlocks and chains. Card tricks. Is Emmanuelle still seeing Scrote Jones from the Gamblers' Guild? We can call in a favour there. Ropework and contortion…."

One of the group stepped forward and bowed. She wore a black kimono with black tabi on her feet, her waist-sash the purple of an Assassins' Guild teacher and supporting the long and short swords of a Samurai warrior. Her lustrous black hair was tied up in a bun and secured with what looked to the casual eye like mere hairpins, long and thin and thrust through the bun to retain it. She held an innocuous-looking fan which appeared to be made only of thin bamboo slats and ricepaper. However, parts of it glinted metallically as she snapped it closed.

"I believe I can do contortion and gymnastics" she said, modestly. "The State Circus in Agatea is generous with the skills it teaches. I will show the clowns here how these things are done in the Agatean circus."

"I don't doubt you, m'dear." Joan said. Koukochu-sama, Miss Pretty Butterfly, was the Guild's lecturer in Agatean Culture and Language. **(3) **She also taught ninjitsu techniques and advanced martial arts. "But most of all, m'dears, we'll need _you_."

"I canot understand why the circus is held in such low esteem in this country." Butterfly went on. "Perhaps you could enlighten this ignorant visitor? I find the clowns so very funny, and at home, the circus skills are held in high honour. Everyone looks forward to a visit to the circus, and the Agatean people revere their clowns and circus performers and appreciate their skils and the years of dicipline and training that make them. It is like Noh theatre, but perormed for comic effect!"

"Another time, maybe, m'dear." Joan murmured, weakly. She wasn't up to a job of this magnitude yet. But sdhe did hope Butterfly's innocent comment might spread and result in a few boatloads of clowns trying their luck in a place where they were apparently respected and admired..._Damn funny place, Agatea. So strange and foreign and topsy-turvy._

Butterfly bowed acknowledgement. Joan indicated the other women present.

She indicated the smaller group of women the Fools' Guild had directly recruited to do most of the work with their new female students. Augmented by help brought in from the Thieves and Assassins' Guild Schools, the dedicated Lady Fools would have most to do with their intake of girl pupils. But, as with the teaching lady Assassins, they also had to formally qualify as Fools first, in order to be able to practice. Consequently, the small core of dedicated women teachers recruited for the Fools' Guild School had already endured far worse and infinitely more horrifying ordeals than any Assassin could ever hope to avoid. Alice, Joan and Johanna, who had all had to undergo Assassin training, and run the feared Final Exam in order to (a) carry on living, and (b) teach student Assassins, were sympathetic.

One of the Fools took a deep and shuddering draft of her cigarette, and exhaled gratefully. She was about six feet tall, thin, twanging with suppressed tension, and had a pallid sad-eyed forty-years-on-the-road-with-the-circus lingering beauty about her. She looked at Joan, by consent spokeswoman for the Assassins, with a questioning eye.

Joan kindly patted her on the shoulder.

"We really do, Mrs McGee!" Joan said, insistently. "Or may I call you Deborah? **(4) **I mean, you and your former husband were nearly thirty years on the road as The Amazing Gremlin And The Lovely Debbie. You too, Doris. You ladies have an absolutely _amazing_ wealth of public performing experience about you."

Joan moved in closer and placed a friendly hand on Debbie's shoulder. In an uncharacteristically Dibbler-like way, she drew in Doris (formerly the assistant to The Amazing Blunko) with her other arm.

"I'm an Assassin." she said, un-necessarily. "But you _**knew**_ that, Doris. Remember you once came to me for marriage guidance counselling, in the old days? Good, I see that you do! Now, see here, ladies. As Assassins, we do not welcome an audience to what we do, and if anyone judges our performance afterwards, it's a _very_ small and select panel of professional equals. There might be the once-in-a-lifetime inhumation that the customer absolutely insists is performed in public with a degree of _show, _as a clear and open message. But those are rare. The last one I can think of was the conclusion of the contract on Lord Winder over thirty years ago. **(5)"**

Joan paused, smiled at each of the Fools in turn, and said

"So you can see, right now we_ need_ you. We're here because you need our skills as teachers. _We_ need _you_ to teach us to perform a few little routines in public, how to do it, that sort of thing. And I just _know_ you'll help!"

And with a couple of little hints, backed by the friendly welcoming smiles of the four Assassins, they did.

* * *

As time allowed over the next six months, the lady Assassins and Thieves met to train in basic circus disciplines and to assess just how many Assassin skills were transferable to the art of circus performance. They also discovered, to their horror, that however clandestine they were and however secret they thought their training sessions would be, there were always a suspiciously large number of students, from either Guild, who found a reason to be in the area, or "just passing by, miss", usually with suppressed smiles on their faces that were one step short of insolence. This ruled out the sword-fighting arena at the Assassins' Guild, as this large airy gymnasium, otherwise perfect for the purpose, had an indoor gallery ringing it on all sides, a perfect place for students to hide and giggle. Similarly, the knife-throwing ranges at the Thieves' Guild were also just too public, and anyway were in constant use.

Johanna hit on the idea of using one of the large storage sheds at the Zoo, which worked perfectly well until they realised they were gathering another amused crowd. They suspected the zookeepers had tipped off the public and were charging admission to supplement their pay. While this ended when Johanna moved in a couple of animals to train up for her lion-taming performance, the drawback was that her fellow Assassins drew the line at sharing space with a couple of lions and a Ghatian tiger, "and I don't care that at least one of them you've raised since he was a cub, Johanna, and might I frankly add that your saying "he's an old softy really" and inviting us to tickle his tummy, is ringing all my alarm bells?"

Finally, they took up the offer of training space at the Fools' Guild, something most of them had been frankly trying to avoid as the general miasma was more unsettling than the presence of untethered large cats and about as pleasant as tap-dancing in a cage full of rattlesnakes.

"Ag, ag, ag!" said Johanna. They had been allocated Rehearsal Theatre Six, which was at least a large enclosed space with few windows, and those dingy and high on the walls. The walls had been whitewashed an unguessable number of years previously, and the atmosphere stank of old sweat, fear and terror from generations of clowns and Fools who had miserably pranced and pratfalled and capered in here.

But at least the Fools respected their right to rehearse in private.

"O-KAY!" Alice band had said, looking disapprovingly around her. "The first thing we do, the very first thing we do, is to get those bloody windows cleaned and opened. We need light in here!"

"Oh, you mean the comedy windowcleaning routine, miss?" their escorting Clown had said, doubtfully. "The one where the buckets turn out to be full of feathers or confetti and anything but water, except for the very last one the lead Clown tips over his own head in disgust…"

Alice glared at him.

"No, I mean real soap and water and a couple of cloths. The more light we get, the better!"

"It's awfully high, miss. How are you going to get up there? And the Guild won't like you messing around with the fixtures and fittings…."

"Do you want me to go to Miss Drapes again?" Alice said, sweetly. Under his slap, the clown paled. Miss Drapes had formerly been a principal clerk at the Royal Bank of Ankh-Morpork. Paradoxically, she had given it up for love of a clown; after a series of misadventures, Mr Mavolio Bent, the Chief Clerk and her boss at the Royal Bank, had turned out to be the most gifted natural clown since Bouncy Normo.**(5)**

While Mr Bent had run away from the circus to join a bank (although he performed regularly in his spare time just to keep his hand in) and she had married him, she had kept her maiden name and accepted a job with the Fools' Guild as Financial Administrator and now School Secretary. Bent-trained as she was, Dr Whiteface admired both her ability to keep the Guild's books and her Maccalariat-lite authority over the Clowns and Fools, all of whom were terrified of the only woman to have achieved high position in the Guild. ( In order to gain associate Guild membership, she had learnt a few basic tricks with coins, banknotes and handkerchiefs. They sufficed, although Mavolio meekly disapproved of trickery of any sort with the Patrician's currency. However, he didn't press the point.) She was certainly one of the strongest advocates of accepting girl pupils, and a firm supporter of the lady teachers. Alice and Joan agreed she'd blossomed since making a late marriage, but she was still as neurotic as a sackful of kittens and therefore ideal material to work at the Fools' Guild.

But under threat of Miss Drapes, hot soapy water and cleaning cloths and brushes had appeared. Meanwhile, some indoor edificeering had established ropes to the top of the room near the windows, and the ten women cheerfully took turns at scrubbing and polishing while the Clown eyed the buckets speculatively.

"Don't even _think_ it!" Alice called down, as she cleaned and polished the glass, balanced at her ease some thirty feet up a rope.

"I'll just get some slippall on the mechanism – it looks as though nobody's opened these windows in _years._ Steffi? Catch!"

In one of those complex manoeuvres only long-time edificeers can get away with, she and Thieves' Guild edificeering instructor Steffi Gibbet swung in towards each other, and the bucket and cloths exchanged hands.

Meanwhile, a Minstrel had joined the clown. They made "these women are totally insane!" hand-signals at each other, and the particolour-dressed Minstrel unslung what in other worlds would have been a lute or a mandolin, but on the Discworld turned out to be a ukulele.

He tuned up, and in a clear and fine singing voice, proclaimed

Now I go cleanin' windows to earn an honest bob,  
For a nosy parker it's an interestin' job;  
Now it's a job that just suits me,  
A window cleaner you would be,  
If you can see what I can see,  
When I'm cleanin' windows! **(6)**

"Honeymoonin' couples too,  
You should see them bill 'n coo,  
You'd be surprised at things they do -  
When I'm cleanin' windows!"

"Pack it in !" ordered Joan.

"Music while you work?" asked the minstrel, hopefully.

"In my profession I'll work hard,  
But I'll never stop.  
I'll climb this blinkin' ladder  
Till I get right to the top;  
The blushin' bride, she looks divine,  
The bridegroom he is doin' fine,  
I'd rather have his job than mine!  
When I'm cleanin' windows!"

The minstrel dodged a barrage of wadded cleaning cloths. Assassins and Thieves can throw accurately: but Fools, Clowns and Troubadors have long experience of evading missiles.

"Miss? Miss? " the clown said, desperately, to Joan.

"He's got to serenade you all, miss. It's what he's trained for. The singing and delicate playing of a string instrument, the plangent notes, the refined courtly air, sort of thing, to lovely women what stand at upper storey windows. Even if you're only cleaning 'em."

"Refined and delicate? It's a dratted _banjo_, man!"

"Ukulele, actually. You'd be amazed how many people makes that error…. Please, miss, Doctor Fondel sent him here to sing to you, it's an assignment, he's being graded on this!"

"I can do the Hedgehog Song" the troubadour said, hopefully.

"No." said Joan, firmly. "Anything but that. Although as it's a grading exercise for you, you may remain. Pick something with less insanitary and unhygienic _goings-on_ in it, if you please!"

The minstrel smiled gratefully and said "Thanks, miss. If old Fondel gives me an "F" for this, I'm in _real_ trouble! You'll be sure to put a good word in for me when he asks you, will you?"

Joan nodded. She'd met Doctor Fondel, the Fools' Guild's Master of The Courtly Arts, who trained minstrels and troubadours. He was a dour and forbidding man with a permanent scowl, and she had trouble trying to work out how he'd ever gained a reputation for singing the songs of courtly love under the bower windows of noblewomen, princesses and Queens. Although she'd heard he'd once been young and handsome until the fateful night he'd serenaded a past Queen of Lancre and her husband had got to hear of it. _Running fast and horseriding are also essential troubadour skills, _she recollected, _but maybe not as important as recognising when an enraged husband's sent his toughest guards to block your exit route. _

"Noblesse oblige." she said, as amicably as she could manage. "I'm sure you'd help if any of my pupils wanted to use you in a grading exercise."

The minstrel blanched.

_Oh, and avoiding Assassins sent by an enraged husband. That must be a lesson too. _

And with rehearsal facilities sorted out, the women found, to their astonishment, that the whole business of setting up routines that would pass a Fools' Guild examination – which would necessarily be lenient towards them - was developing into an absorbing challenge. Who knew, maybe the Fools and Clowns could pass on skills to them that would be transferable to working as Assassins and Thieves. Their routines were emerging, and would soon be on display to the world.

* * *

**1) Repeated footnote from Nature Studies:- **_**Something **_like this must have happened. In the very earliest Discworld novels, such as _**Equal Rites**_**, **conjurors have been described as jolly men with leather patches on their elbows and a hearty laugh, who congregate together at parties, associate with thin sad-eyed women (generally called Doris who affect spangly tights and leotards), and generally infuriate wizards by not realising how lowly they are. Yet by the time of _**The Truth**_, A group of sad, listless, and defeated men whose guild premises are directly underneath William de Worde's office. By inference one step away from Fools and every bit as cheerful, the trainee Conjurors are led through their lessons by strict rote. It is clear that as with the Fools and Joculators, there is no perceived need to alter what may, at some point in the preceding several hundred years, have once been a winning formula.

Quite clearly, in between _**Equal Rites**_ and _**The Truth**_**,** something has happened to change the image of conjuring. Quite possibly the establishment of a Guild and the formalising of training into something sounding as unutterably miserable as anything the Fools' Guild has come up with? Indeed, given the generally negative levels of jollity and joviality floating about, together with the undeniable fact that stage magic is a somewhat stilted, forced and unspontaneous form of entertainment, unchanged in its essentials for many years, which has now become something of a cliché - could it be that Conjury has been subsumed as a sub-speciality of Clowning and Fooling, and ultimately comes under the chilly wing of Dr. Whiteface?

**(2) **The ultimate guv'nor. Lord Vetinari, had replied that of all the possible Guilds to use the plumbimg issue and lack of facilities as an excuse not to take vocationally inclined female students, the Builders and Plumbers were the _last _ones who should try to get away with it. After all, they'd advised on installing appropriate facilities for nearly a thousand girl pupils at the expanded Assassins' Guild School and then built them, so what had they done since, lost the plans?

**(3 ) An online translator gives these choices for "butterfly" **_- _**_kochou, chou, chouchou, batafurai_**** – and these for "pretty"- ****_puriti, kawaii, airashii_****. Have I picked the right ones? Useless trivia – British singer Alvin Stardust charted with a song called "my kouchoucou" in 1974. 36 years later I find out it isn't just an assemblage of nonsense syllables, he could be likening his beloved to a Japanese butterfly…**

**(4) **Not to be confused with The Lovely Debbie McGee, who on Roundworld was the Doris to diminutative stage magician The Amazing Paul Daniels. We are reliably told that all Dorises end up as sad-eyed twitching wrecks in the end. (Maybe even candidates for Joan Sanderson-Reeves' professional speciality?) It possibly qualifies them for teaching on the Discworld.

**(5) **– see Terry Pratchett's _**Night Watch**_, where Vetinari himself concludes a very public annulment. Bouncy Normo was the perfect Clown. Just as some people have perfect pitch, absolute rhythm or green fingers, Normo had no sense of humour whatsoever but was a _really_ funny man. The then Patrician had to issue an edict banning him from public performance after three people died laughing. This was even though Normo was standing with his back to the stage and did not utter a word. People would go purple just watching him shave. This was too much for him. Leaving a suicide note that read "What is everybody laughing about?" his suicde was memorsble, prolonged, and took another seven people with him. For the full sad tae of Bouncy Normo, see _**The New Discworld Companion**_.

**(6) **See Terry Pratchett's _**Making Money**_for the love-match between Mavolio Bent and Miss Drapes.

**(7) **Troubadours and minstrels were an off-shoot of mediaeval jesters and clowns. Author Alan Gordon explores the idea of the Roundworld Fools Guild in his novels about the jester Theophilus and his family. (Read 'em. Reccomended). In one book, the famous troubadour Blondel makes his appearance, but as a minstrel who would have wowed 'em down at the Blue Cat Club…

To me, the idea of an impeccably dressed Discworld minstrel – but singing George Formby songs to ukulele accompaniment – is irresistible, especially as Formby was never that funny to begin with. Or maybe the wartime British were so starved of any sort of entertaining distraction that they loved a man who was one step away from being a Discworld clown…


	2. In Training

_**The serious business of foolery….**_

A fanfic set in the Guild of Fools and Joculators. It picks up the plot from the end of _**Nature Studies **_and offers an outsider's insight into education at the Fools' Guild. The events of two other fics – _**Why and Were **_and _**Amateur Night – **_are presumed to have happened in the interim, making this about a year further on.

* * *

Alice exhaled and sank gloomily against a wall. This was starting to get _oppressive._ Joan grinned reassuringly at her.

"Think of it as being like preparing for a very difficult and complicated inhumation, m'dear." she said, encouragingly "We're ironing out the bumps according to the standard form. You know. Overcoming anxiety, ensuring everything's planned and prepared, working to prevent poor performance, ensuring the equipment we use is selected with care and maintaining it properly, guarding against over-confidence. _Rule of p's,_ as the pupils put it when they think we aren't listening."

"Plenning end preperetion prevent piss-poor performence!"**(1)** quoted Johanna.

Alice smiled, mirthlessly.

"Yes, but there's usually a large fee as an incentive for a tricky inhumation!." she pointed out.

"Or something worth fencing back at the Guild" added thief Steffi Gibbet. "Here, we're only getting a thank-you from Doctor Whiteface. If we're lucky."

The only person outside the Fools who seemed to be unreservedly enjoying herself was the Agatean, Pretty Butterfly.

Again Joan wondered how much different life was in Agatea, a place where Clowns weren't just appreciated but treated with respect. Butterfly, when she wasn't teaching or spending time at the University to _properly balance the karma of my esteemed friend Professor Rincewind_**(2) **_and to be a guiding and correcting principle in his life, _seemed to spend every moment she could round the corner at the Fools' Guild, observing the Clowns and Fools as they trained. Miss Drapes had secured this for her, and Butterfly considered her access pass to be something of a high honour.

Word had also got out through her as to how well clowns and circus performers were thought of in Agatea. Doctor Whiteface had been petitioned, and with the backing of the Agatean Embassy and the unreserved blessing of Lord Vetinari, was busy selecting performers for a cultural visit with an Ankh-Morporkian Travelling Circus. **(****3)**

Alice, Steffi, Joan and Johanna watched Butterfly for a few minutes. She had taken to circus skills like a duck to water, and was currently perched atop a large ball, some three feet in diameter, skilfully walking it back and forth across the rehearsal room, varying her performance with standing somersaults and back-flips, always landing tip-toed on the ball again and never losing control.

Alice suspected she was personally taking to circus arts like a troll duck to water, and was silently envious. Although Alice Band was working up her own routine, which had raised gasps of admiration from the circus performers, she really didn't feel at home with public performance and would be quietly glad when it was all over. The nearest she'd ever come in adult life to performing in public for the entertainment of others had been during her Assassin training, when she had needed to demonstrate, as per Concordat, the requisite proficiency in at least one musical instrument. This had entailed her having to come out of the closet in a very deep and personal way, and reveal a shameful lifelong secret to the Guild's music teacher, Doctor von Ubersetzer.

Well, nobody likes having to reveal in public they were once forced to learn the tuba at school. Nor that this is her only musical instrument and you'll have to be satisfied with this, Doctor. **(4)**

She carried on watching Butterfly, who was clad in a simple black leotard, perform gymnastic moves on and around the large ball. It was certainly eye-catching, which is something their performance tutors Debbie and Doris had emphasised again and again:

_Exaggerate every move. Remember, people up in the gods need to see what you're doing as well. Some of the moves are formalised and ritual, you could call it that. We'll teach those. You have to keep a smile up. You must smile. Make it look effortless even if you're sweating cobs. Here's a secret, some goose grease over the gums and teeth helps, it cuts friction. _

"You've got the _real_ ordeal to come on Wednesday, anyway." Joan informed them, with deep satisfaction.

Alice looked up sharply.

"Debbie and Doris are fitting you all up with leotards and spangly tights." Joan said, cheerfully. "Oh, _and_ suitable footwear for the parts you're all playing."

"That doesn't sound as if it includes _you_." Alice said, pointedly.

"At _my_ age? With _this _stringy old body? In a profession where glamour and appearance count, I would exude all the beauty and allure of a wilted string bean. Debbie agrees, she said I can just wear motley or mens' clothes for my performance!"

Aware of the glares on her, Joan said, mildly, "Look, I thought ahead when I chose. Didn't _you_?" She stepped back, full of the contentment of mind that comes from being aware other people are going to undergo uncomfortable and possibly painful tribulation that you, personally, are legitimately exempt from.

"In that case, the rehearsal had better blasted well be in private!" Alice fumed, gritting her teeth.

"Allie!" Steffi chided her. "Remember that time at the Blue Cat when they put on that magic act? And we joked about glamming up as a Drag King act? Well, it looks like this is it!"

Alice sighed and took her friend's hand. Steffi said, with deep feeling, "And we agreed you've got a body that's just made for leotards and tights. Remember?"

"OK." Alice said. Steffi had been an occasional lover of hers for some time now and they appreciated each other's company. "But absolutely no iconographs and I _certainly _don't want any pupils seeing this! Well, not the boys, anyway."

"Same here!" said Betty Richardson. "They're damn hard to handle as it is! I don't mind doing it, but if any iconographs get out of Miss in next to nothing, the classroom will be an absolute nightmare!"

They decided their break was over and got back to rehearsing. Alice and Steffi resumed their ropes and practiced a tricky cross-over which on the day they'd be doing maybe seventy feet up. From ten feet up with crash-mats underneath it was just a matter of breaking your fall – Alice noted it would be good training for her pupils in managing the Emergency Drop – climbing up, and starting again.

Leotards were as bad as everyone suspected. Debbie and Doris had taken measurements and gone to a theatrical supply shop to make a bulk buy, paid for by the Fools' Guild, followed by a group visit to the shoe-shop (which even Alice had to admit had been a fun afternoon out). Joan, Johanna and Steffi had then steeled themselves for a necessary visit to the shonky shops for shabby but clean old clothes that could be cut up and transformed into clowns' motley.

They had all been allowed privacy to change, which was just as well. Debbie, Doris and the other Fools, who were used to the rigours imposed by professional dress, had then taken a woman each and tidied her up with regard to any wrinkles, creases, and wobbly stocking seams where applicable. As Steffi and Johanna would also be expected to do part of their performance in leotards, they were not exempted from this trial session.

Part of Johanna's costume for the day was a pair of high-heeled boots in glistening black leather, reaching to her knees. Feeling horribly and nakedly exposed, she regarded herself in the full-length mirror – the Fools' Guild was as well supplied with mirrors as the Assassins', and for much the same reasons - and while part of her was pleased with what she saw, the other part was shrinking from the idea she'd have to stand in front of _men _dressed like this, and it left nothing much to the imagination…

_Ah well. In for the rand, in for the roogie…._

She unhitched her whip from her waist, took a couple of speculative cracks, and started getting into character.

"They pay good money for that sort of thing down at the Seamstresses' Guild, m'dear!" Joan observed. "That could be your next Guild badge? You seem to be collecting the full set!"

Then Alice walked in.

Alice Band was five-feet ten, and her body had been honed by a lifetime of edificeering, mountaineering, treks in the wilderness, and Stealth Archaeology**(5)**. In a shimmering leotard, spangly tights, high heels and a tall feather head-dress, she was frankly sensational. She stopped the room dead.

"Wow, I _say_!" said Joan.

"….wurble…" said Steffi Gibbet.

"Put your tongue back in, Steff!" said Betty Richardson. "And _do_ stop slavering!"

Clothes dictate movement. A uniform of any kind dictates a role and an identity on the part of the person wearing it. And Alice Band was moving and looking not like an Assassin but like a very upmarket showgirl. The result was frankly sensational.

"I'm not going to ask how I look" she said, "because I can see it. Steffi, when you come back down to earth again, let's see how easy it is to do the routine in these things."

Doris stepped forward.

"You won't be able to do it in the shoes" she said, "so they'll have to come off. And the head-dress, as you don't want it slipping down in front of your eyes. What you'll find is that the feet of the tights are specially reinforced to act like ballet pumps. That way, you won't rub them to ribbons and ladders on the ropes. But it has to be _corde lisse_. This ordinary rope will shred tights! "

"_Corde lisse_. Smooth rope?"

"It's a special circus rope made out of silk. This rough hemp stuff is fine for practice and rehearsal, but _not _in the costume. It damages them too much."

She ran to the door. Their clown minder had been warned to stay out of sight or suffer. He had chosen not to suffer and was waiting in the corridor outside.

" Bonzo?"

"Yes miss?" came the muffled reply.

"Go and see if you can rustle up eighty feet or so of _corde lisse_, could you? Thanks!"

Alice was interested. She'd always used normal woven hemp ropes for Assassin purposes. If the Fools had something better, this was a good chance to find out about it and borrow one of their ideas.

In the meantime she surveyed her colleagues – _most _of her colleagues – in leotards. Not a bad bunch of showgirls, all things considered. She wondered if all Dorises looked like this before the grind of being on the road with the circus knocked it out of them. No wonder Doris and Debbie were looking for a quieter job in training up the next generation to a common standard. The thought made Alice shiver: just how would a class of eleven-year old girls fare in the daunting regime of the Fools' Guild School? She nodded to herself: that was one good reason why Vetinari had insisted on a supervisory panel of teachers drawn from other Schools, who could protest and mitigate any obvious ill-treatment or neglect. She knew the Fools started boys off from the age of six or seven – she'd seen them – and she wondered what sort of parent, other than a Guild member himself, would willingly pay to send a child here. _Well, there's a good reason for being here. _

She nodded a greeting to the Guild's soon-to-be teacher in Ropes, Trapeze, Tightrope and Associated Skills. She was a wiry and sinewy woman in her middle thirties, with black hair, a not unbecoming beaked nose, heavy-lidded eyes and a lovely coppery-red skin. Alice recalled the first time she'd introduced herself.

"My name is Dolores Estefaña Chiliconcarne y Fajitas y Cuidado de las Llamas de Guttieriez" she had said. "Formerly of the aerobatic troupe _Trio los Paranoias. _"It's a bit of a mouthful, I know."

"Formerly?" Alice had asked.

"Up until the incident with the safety rope in Pseudopolis." Dolores had sighed. "I still visit one colleague in hospital and bring him tales of the outside world. And I lay flowers on the grave of the other on every anniversary… ¿I'm not helping, am I?"

"We'll gloss over that." Joan had said. "Accidents happen, after all. Where are you from, m'dear? You're not a native Morporkian."

"¡ I am a Stinca!" Dolores said.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, you look after yourself quite well.."

"A Stinca Indian." she clarified. "My land is now called _Paraquat_, and is in the jungle Hubwards of the crazy Tezuman country."

"_¿Pero habla Toledaña?" _Alice had asked, interested. She did not add that "Dolores" was the Toledan for "Doris". It made sense.

Dolores sighed. "Many hundreds of years ago, as the Ankh-Morporkian Empire receded and fell, the Toledans made their revolution and threw out Ankh-Morpork. It would have been nice if they'd stopped there, but they went after an empire of their own. Possibly they were too well taught by you people.

"They came Rimwards, to our jungle. We Stincas were a peaceable people, our only war had been with those crazy humourless Tezumen deeper in the jungle. So our armies fought with spears tipped with obsidian, and wooden clubs with sharp pieces of obsidian embedded in them. Good enough for a Tezuman, but not good enough for Toledan _conquistadores _with steel swords wearing steel armour.

"The _conquistadores _defeated us, enslaved us, made us second-class citizens in our own country, and forced us to learn their language."

She paused, and looked at Johanna.

"¡A practice still alive and well in Rimwards Howondaland, as we discovered when we played a tour there and had to eat and sleep separately from white performers because we were classed as _coloured _¡ " she said, pleasantly. "¡Oh, I'm not blaming you personally, but visiting your country was a history lesson! ¡ We even had to have separate performances for black and white audiences!"

Johanna reddened slightly and bowed her head. After a long time in Ankh-Morpork, her country's social politics were beginning to be an embarrassment to her.

"Anyway, dear. _Dolores Estefaña Chiliconcarne y Fajitas y Cuidado de las Llamas de Guttieriez." _said Joan. "And what did your mother call you?"

Dolores reddened. "¡OK, so I'm really Doris O'Higgins!" she said. But I'm still a Stinca Indian from Paraquat. Listen. My country was owned by Toleda for three hundred years. All they cared about was gold, silver, platinum and other metals. ¿ My ancestors slaved in their mines, right? Then this bunch of adventurers from a faraway country showed up. They'd just tried a rebellion in Hergen to throw out the Ankh-Morporkians. Didn't work. Too close to Ankh_Morpork and too easily reinforced to break any local revolt. ¿So they ran, or they'd have been hanged or deported to Fourecks, right?"

"Ah. Hergen. The bane of Ankh-Morpork for several hundred years!" said Joan. "There's always a fight of some sort going on there. Lovely people as individuals, but get a lot of 'em together and they get a rush of blood to the fists. Lovely country, though(**6**) "

"They saw life in Paraquat, saw the state we were in, and decided to have the revolution right here. Those crazy Hergenians put a rebel army together that liberated us and threw the Toledans _right_ out. One of them was called Bernardo O'Higgins, and I'm descended from him. "¡He's our national hero!"**(7)**

"Mainly Indian but part Hergenian. I see. Better not annoy you too much, then!"

The copper-skinned woman grinned.

"Look, I've been watching you demonstrate what you can do. You've got skills and no fear of heights. Alice, Steffi, I want to team up with you. ¡I want to recreate one of the tricks that made the Trio de los Paranioas great! It needs three people, though".

"It's not the same routine that got your partners killed and crippled, is it?" Alice said, suspiciously.

"No, no." Dolores reassured them. "That was down to the rope snapping. Look, I want to do the Flight of the Condors again. I think you'll love it. ¿Can I train you both?"

It would take a lot of discussion, description and even a working scale model before Alice and Steffi were eventually convinced, But the Condor Sisters would now fly – their imagination had been gripped, even though Dolores warned them that the routine called for meticulous preparation and split-second timing. It appealed to their sense of risk and danger.

And the _corde lisse_ arrived. Alice and her band of Thieves and Assassins marvelled at how soft and light the silk rope was. Dolores informed them that she also used silk ribbons for climbing and rope work, and ¿would they like to learn?

"We can use this stuff!" Steffi said, exhilarated." It's _miles_ ahead of anything we've currently got. How many more secrets do these people have that we don't know about?"

"That's for us to find out." Alice said, running the marvellously light, smooth, rope through her fingers. "This is going to _revolutionise _edificeering!"

"They've got an Alchemy department here" Joan said. "I was asking around for something that might be useful in my act. This clown/alchemist heard what I was trying to describe, and he said "oh yes, our people have used that for years. Do you want some?" I bet these people, in their own unique way, have got better alchemy than us!"

"Time we discovered their secrets, then!" said Johanna. "I knew there wes a good reason for our being here. Kiff!" She took a long draw from one of the water bottles that had been provided. Physical work was always thirsty work.

And then an uncomfortable, prickly, sort of feeling that Johanna had been trying to ignore started making insistent tugging pulls at her conscious mind, like a little child trying to attract Mummy's attention by pulling at her hem. She frowned.

"Tell me. How do you go to the privy in these clothes?"

"Ah, that's a lesson in itself!" Debbie said. "You can't. Not easily, anyway. On the night of a performance when you're in the glam, it's wisest not to drink anything at all until the show's over and you can get back into civvies again. At most, just little sips to moisten your lips."

"And _now_ you tell us?" wailed Johanna, running for the privy.

She left several increasingly uncomfortable women who were all realising an unwelcome truth about the combination of tights and leotard and whby it meant nil by mouth.

* * *

**(1) **In _**Pyramids**_, Mr Mericet memorably informs a class, including Pteppic and Chidder, about the enemies who will dog the steps of the ill-prepared Assassin. The sinister figures that march in step with the unwary Assassin are identified as _ill-preparedness, carelessness, lack of concentration, poor maintenance of working tools, _and of course _**overconfidence. **_The British Army has a training mantra that by a process of convergent evolution encapsulates the same information in five alliterative words. Johanna has just spoken it.

**(2) **See Terry Pratchett's _**Interesting Times **_for details of Butterfly's earlier association with Rincewind.

**(3) **Vetinari had said, with absolute sincerity, that he really didn't know how the city would get on without so many of its finest Clowns, who would no doubt be absent for up to two years. And who knows, some might even opt to remain in a nation where Clowns and circus performers were held in such high esteem. "No doubt we'll manage and adjust appropriately for the loss".

**(4) **See my novella _**The Graduation Class. **_

**(5) **Stealth Archaeology largely involves getting away with the loot before the owner of the site finds out. If Alice had not gone legitimate by joining the Archaeologists' Guild, who disapprove of that sort of thing, then it is highly likely she would have ended up teaching at the Thieves' School. Her period as a Stealth Archaeologist proper (a thief with an interest in history and an accurate idea of the worth of artefacts) had largely been during those difficult teenage years where other girls might have expressed rebellion and anomie by shoplifting cosmetics from Woolworths. But an offer by a professor who recognised raw talent when he saw it had led her to the Quirm School of Archaeology, and eventually a starred first.

**(6) **I have treated the identified but otherwise undescribed Discworld country of Hergen, west and north of Llamedos, as its analogue for all things Irish and pertaining to Ireland. But turned up to eleven, as always.

**(7) **Really true. In Roundworld's South America in the 1800's, the leadership of the chain of revolutions that ended Spanish and Portuguese colonial rule was provided by refugee Irishmen fleeing British wrath after a failed insurrection in Ireland. They kept their hand in by leading the locals to throw off their colonial shackles. Bernard O'Higgins is reverenced as a national liberator, as is the half-Irish Simon Bolivar. Incidentally, the name O'Higgins was bequeathed by forebears expelled from England by Oliver Cromwell, English radicals who wanted the Civil War to go further and become a British Revolution. Cromwell transported them to the remote west of Ireland (Australia hadn't been invented yet) where they intermarried with the natives, became Irish, and bequeathed English names like _Smith_ and _Higgins_ - and _**Adams**_ - to their descendants.


	3. Guild Politics

_**The serious business of foolery….3**_

A fanfic set in the Guild of Fools and Joculators. It picks up the plot from the end of _**Nature Studies**_ and offers an outsider's insight into education at the Fools' Guild. The events of two other fics – _**Why and Were **_and _**Amateur Night – **_are presumed to have happened in the interim, making this about a year further on.

_**Kids! Fire-eating is a dangerous hobby. Try it at home if you must, and done properly it does impress girls (well - some girls) but do remember it's vitally important not to inhale. Just don't say you got the idea here if it goes wrong. In fact if it goes wrong you're on your own. Thank you!**_

* * *

Joan, Johanna and Alice always had to steel themselves to enter the Fools' Guild via its entrance on God Street. The fourth Assassin, Pretty Butterfly, saw it as a treat and a privilege, a character aberration the other women put down to her being Agatean and coming from a place where things were different.

On this, the day of their final test for associate membership of the Fools' Guild, they had all elected to change in privacy in their own quarters at the Assassins' Guild. Making-up could be completed at the Fools' Guild under the supervision of Doris, Debbie and Dolores. With the exception of Joan, they had discreetly donned long winter overcoats, despite the sweltering August heat, and had set about the doggedly determined walk round the block to the Fools. Indeed, there was a dog with them, one of Joan's, whom she had trained up to provide a useful supporting skill for a recent inhumation. Brandi the Labrador would feature in Joan's act tonight, capitalising on training she had already received to play a very different role.

Even this was not without mishap.

Gaspode the Wonder Dog fell into step with Johanna and Alice. Both of them had their overcoats pulled determinedly around them, and head-dresses and other items were either in carrying bags or would be picked up at the Fools's Guild. But Alice in particular could not hide the high-heeled very glamorous strappy silver sandals she wore.

"New shoes, miss?" asked Gaspode, taking a sniff. Alice restrained the impulse to take a good hard kick. Gaspode had his uses sometimes, as informant and watcher. "They don't look like Assassin issue!"

"There's still enough sole to conceal a four-inch blade. " Alice bluffed, pointing her toe – pointedly – in the general direction of Gaspode's under-tail region. Just in case, and mainly because he was hardwired to act on this sort of very personal threat, Gaspode scampered out of kicking range. Then he remembered what had drawn him to the women in the first place, and he schmoozed up to Joan's dog, a beautifully-groomed Labrador bitch.

"Yo, bitch!" he said, in human and in Dog, before Joan's right foot swept him aside.

"So a little sniff's out of the question, then?" Gaspode said, from the gutter, to a outraged "Hmmmph!" from Joan and a set of exposed-teeth growls from Brandi the Labrador.

"You know, we could perheps use Gespode in a comedy dog routine." Johanna observed. She was perhaps best disposed to the talking dog, having benefited from his observations in a recent criminal investigation concerning leopards. **(1)**

Joan sniffed. "_You_ perhaps could, m'dear, but _this _dog does _not_ consort with flea-ridden mongrels!"

She pulled on Brandi's lead protectively.

"That's speciesism, is that! Just because you object to fleas…"

"I _could _put a meal out for you." Joan said, speculatively, weighing up Gaspode. Brandi, unable to get to the cocktail of interesting smells he represented, stirred uneasily on her short leash.

"Well, that'd be _sump'ing_…" Gaspode said, appreciatively. Joan, Alice and Butterfly giggled or just smiled.

"Now wait a minute, miss. You do poisoning, don't you…"

Joan looked down and nodded, aware the penny had dropped.

"Whoops" said Gaspode, realising he was among Assassins and recalling what Joan's personal speciality was. It was why she taught Domestic Science the Assassin way, among other things. He discreetly fell away as they got to the Fool's front gate.

"Assassins' Guild, four to enter!" Joan called, authoritively. "And we would be pleased if you simply opened the doors for us and refrain from any manifestations of mirth, humour or foolery, thank you _so_ much!"

He voice said, simply, _you have been warned. Continue with custard pies, buckets of whitewash, or similar pranking, strictly at __**your**__ peril. _

There was some indistinct arguing in the background. One voice had an air of plaintive "_well why not_?" about it, while the other was clearly heard to hiss "_because they're sodding bloody Assassins, that's why!"_

Eventually they were allowed in without drama or custard pie. Butterfly bowed to one of the disconsolate gate clowns and said

"You have lost face. Perhaps the so-funny flower in the lapel routine, with me, yes? It would restore face for you, and I can then write home that the great clown used me in his routine."

The gate clown picked up. "You really wouldn't mind, miss?"

Butterfly smiled at him.

"It would be a honour! But only _once,_ and only with water. And I must know the name of the Great Clown."

Joan and Alice shook their heads. There was no accounting for taste. They left Butterfly talking clown-craft with a group of awed students, and followed their mentor Doris towards the Performance Marquee, which was now a permanent part of the Fools' Guild set-up. The morning was ticking down towards the Ordeal. There was no escape.

"We're commited, girls." Joan said, in a low voice.

"To take part in something like _this_, we must have been!" said Alice.

"You'll never guess who's on the judging panel!" Debbie said, excitedly. "Take a look!"

Johanna and Alice took a discreet peek around the curtain.

Out there was the Permanent Performing Marquee, a circular tent about a hundred and fifty yards in diameter, ringed about by ascending tiers of bench seats. Above the entrance tunnel, they knew, was a band pit – they could hear Clown musicians tuning up above them – and immediately opposite was the VIP box.

It also looked as if the Guild had given its staff and students the morning off, as the bleachers were beginning to fill with Clowns, Fools, Minstrels, Conjurors, Dorises, and Mime Artists. But it was the VIP box that held their attention.

"Oh, _no!_" Alice wailed. "I don't believe it. It isn't just Clowns. They've only gone and invited Downey and T'Malia. And don't laugh, Steffi. Boggis is there too. And the Duke and Duchess of Ankh. And that bloody bloody man William de Worde!"

"End Secherissa Cripslock." added Johanna. "Where they go, thet bleddy vempire goes with the iconogephs. End just for good measure, Moist von Lipwig from the Post Office!"

"All for the good then!" observed Betty Richardson. "Mr von Lipwig is one of us at heart. If he's judging, he'll see we get a fair go. Sam Vimes will be fair, too, as he hates the lot of us, Thieves, Assassins _and _clowns."

"Just as well, really, there are non-Guild judges." mused Joan. "Since we decided to go for broke and fit in as much _innovation_ and _novelty_ as we could. I can see some of the old-time clowns getting a little bit _intense_ over some of the things we're about to show them!"

"Well, yes." Alice said, "But we're not cradle Guild members, are we? We can hardly be blamed for not _quite_ getting it according to spec!" She paused, and added words she would kick herself for uttering later. "I wonder who those two empty seats are for, right in the middle?"

Doris and Dolores looked around to check if they were being overheard, and then Doris leant in and said , in a low voice,

"It's about time _somebody_ innovated around this Guild and brought a few new ideas in. Everything here is practically bloody well _fossilised_!"

"When they bought out the Conjurors' Guild," Debbie said, "it took a while for them to realise they'd acquired several hundred women members by default. We came with the Guild, you see - integral. I don't think Whiteface and the Council had thought much beyond extending their Guild empire. But once they'd got us, they couldn't get rid of us. They had to pass a Guild law saying that despite everything they'd believed in for the past seven hundred years, the time was now right to take on women as associate Guild members. They couldn't do anything else, really!"

"Hence…" Alice's brain was working overtime. "_somebody _took advantage of the situation to suggest that the time is now right for the Guild to take female pupils."

Dolores smiled a tight little smile.

"Perhaps the same Somebody who innocently asked Miss Drapes if working alongside her husband at the Royal Bank might not be a little bit too claustrophobic. He suggested to her that now the Fools' Guild had been persuaded to accept women as associate members, there was a vacancy here for financial controller that she would be _absolutely _ideal for, and would the Guild dare turn down the wife of Mavolio Bent when she asked them for a job?"

Alice nodded at Dolores.

"Somebody whose name begins with "V"?"

The three lady Fools nodded.

"Give the lady a coconut. Nice big one, she's worked it out!"

Alice exhaled.

Debbie, Dolores and Doris drew closer in. From the outside, it must have looked as if teachers and student performers were having a last-minute confidence-building group hug.

Doris spoke again, in a low confidential voice.

"You all wondered about that pile of broken cement just inside the tunnel entrance, with bits of fabric hanging out of it? Well, that was the punishment Whiteface gave to a clown called Enrico Colostomo the other day. The Cement Poured Down The Trousers routine for daring to ad-lib, and incorporate new and unapproved material in a routine."**(2)**

"Ouch!" said Joan, with feeling. "But they chipped him out afterwards?"

"He'll carry the humiliation for life." Debbie said, feelingly. "The thing is, Joan, Alice, Johanna, Betty, Steffi…. There are a lot of us who feel it's time for the Guild to loosen up. That we need to be innovative ,to encourage new material, to ad-lib, to do different, to _dare_ to be different. There's quite an undercurrent in the Guild in favour of change and freedom and open-ness. But Whiteface and the Jolly Good Pals have got it all screwed down so tightly, nobody dares protest at the old-fashioned ways. The last set of cement trousers are left where eveyone can see them, as an awful warning."

"There's a lot more riding on your performance this morning than you would think." Doris added. "There's a full house out there that is going to see innovation, new, fresh, material and a different attitude to performance. Even if you never perform again, you're going to send a lot of people away _thinking_. Today could be where our revolution starts!"

There was a silence. Joan blinked and said

"Well, better not disappoint them, shall we? I believe I'm on first?"

They had agreed to start with an eye-catching performance, one that would get everyone sitting up and paying attention. Doris and Debbie had recommended this: they said the opening act _must_ grab them and deter them from wandering off looking for popcorn. After that, you could afford to send a slightly weaker act on second.

And by public acclaim, there was no stronger nor more eyecatching opening act than Joan's…

It had been agreed that Betty Richardson should take the role of Ringmistress. Joan had very cheerfully agreed that Betty was young enough to look the part in a leotard, a long red frock-tailed coat and a top hat, and she certainly had the presence: both Betty and Joan looked upon public performance as simply a matter of over-awing a far larger classroom, and whether there were seventy or seven hundred people out there was a minor matter of detail. For somebody with the presence and voice of an old-time classroom monster, being Ringmistress is no problem at all. Johanna had shown her how to crack a whip, and the essential persona had been established.

Thus as the _March of the Blithering Idiots_ faded out into an expectant drum-roll and Betty strode out centre-ring, almost to the huge central support pole that supported the canvas over a hundred feet above, she had no fear.

Not even when she saw Lord Vetinari and Lady DeMeserole occupying the two hitherto empty seats that Alice had wondered about.

"_My Lords! Ladies! And gentlemen!" _she announced as the hum of murmured anticipation died away. "You have heard of the Monstrous Regiment who revolutionised warfare? Well, we are the Monstrous Circus, who are set to revolutionise the world of three-ring performance! Without a man in sight, we can promise you thrills! Spills! And adventure! Today, we will shake up the way you view circus! We can guarantee you that your perception of the circus… " she paused as a salamander-white flash went off. _Otto Chriek. Damn, damn, and damn again. My life will not be worth living when these photos hit the Times tomorrow. "_Even if we never work nor perform again, your view of the circus will change forever! And without further ado, our first performer tonight is far better known as a teacher at the Assassins' Guild School. Some of her pupils have been heard to swear, although not very loudly and certainly not where they think can actually hear it, that she must have some dragon in her ancestry." _Who's laughing? Lord Downey. Good. _"Indeed, she doesn't deny it, but stresses that it's _**noble dragon**_ in her blood, as only _that_ is fit to educate young virgin daughters of the Venturi, Selachii, Eorle and Rust families!"

Betty lowered her voice to a stage whisper. "_Which also makes for a nice nourishing snack if they step out of line. _My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you…. _Joan Sanderson-Reeves, Dragon Schoolteacher!"_

Betty stepped out of the ring as Joan, in traditional black gown and mortar board, strode confidently forward, checking by eye that her props were just where she wanted them, on the correct marks.

_Good, You only need to tell Clown stagehands once. They're professionals. _

Joan waited for the welcoming applause to die down and an expectant silence filled the ring. She impassively noted the presence of Vetinari and noted two late arrivals had shown up, namely the Arch-chancellor and Dean of Unseen University. _The new Dean, the nice young lad who only takes up one seat and who has a damn' good incentive to stay slim and fit. But he'll be goggling at her later. _

"_My pupils accuse me of being at least half-dragon!" _Joan said, in her best carrying classroom voice.

She pointed at the blackboard and easel that had been set up five yards away. Then without warning she puffed out her cheeks. A jet of fire seemed to shoot from her mouth, and engulfed the board.

"They'd be right, too!" she proclaimed.

Where it had been bare before, the board now read in fiery letters:

_**Applications of Exothermic Alchemy:- Fire-breathing 101.**_

Joan let the hushed _how did she do that?_ comment wash over her. She took a swig from what the audience assumed to be a water-bottle, being careful not to swallow any. She exhaled again, and this time the jet of fire was bigger, heavier and longer, petering out into a rush of hot air about ten feet away from the Patrician, who didn't flinch, but continued to regard her with interest and attention. She saw Mustrum Ridcully turn angrily to Ponder Stibbons, who held up a thaumometer and shook his head. _No magic _here_, my lad. Just the age-old principles of deception, sleight of hand and misdirection, backed by sound alchemy. _

She exhaled again, feeling the last of the liquid in her mouth sublimate and escape, using the flame to light one of the treated sponges on a stick. Juggling knives had been a party game at the Assassins' Guild: unlike the Fools, it wasn't an end in itself, just an interesting by-product of the art of knife-throwing. Joan had proven to be quite good at it, so transferring the skill to three or four blazing torches was nothing new or special.

_Now for the tricky bit…._

She'd selected sponges small enough to fit into her mouth. She'd also practiced the skill with small things, like matches, and worked up: once over the flinch reflex at deliberately putting flaming objects into her mouth, the action of closing her lips over the stick very quickly starved the fire of oxygen and extinguished the flame, whilst the natural wetness in her oral cavity cushioned her from internal burning.**(3)**

_Do not inhale, Joan! _she reminded herself, extinguishing and setting down four torches in a waterbucket to applause.

Remembering that all movements in the ring must be exaggerated – or at least, the ones you want the public to see – she turned and clearly indicated the lines of candles on the table.

With her free hand, she prepared to release the stopper on the canister of butane gas she had in her pocket. This would release a controlled amount of gas through a clear pipe hidden under her clothing and bent to conform to her bodily shape, which emerged from her high necked shirt and was tailored to the contours of her face, emerging near to the corner of her mouth. Once lit, it looked from eighty feet away as if she were breathing fire. She preferred this way to taking a mouthful of what the Clown alchemists assured her was a low-ignition liquid cocktail that was totally inert in the mouth, miss.

As she breathed fire, the candles lit.

Doris, acting as her assistant, wheeled on the piece de resistance with a series of flounces and wiggles and elaborate flourishes.

It was a birthday cake which to Joan's eye had far too many candles in it. But even so…. To a drumroll and Doris whipping up the crowd, she proceeded to light the candles on her own birthday cake.

This got her a near-standing ovation. Joan and Doris performed a quick session of double-handed juggling with flaming torches, and then an act six months in the preparation was over.

"_Miss Joan Sanderson-Reeves, the Dragon Teacher!" _called Betty, this time to a standing ovation. Joan and Betty took bows, and left the ring.

And so the Monstrous Circus began…

* * *

**(1) See **_**Why and Were. **_

**(2) **See my short** "Brothers". **

3_**(3)**__ It's like walking on red-hot coals, right? Provided you keep walking, the layer of sweat on the sole of the foot acts as an insulating layer stopping your foot from burning for just long enough. It's the same with fire-breathing: the saliva inside your mouth provides an insulating layer for just long enough, provided you close your mouth and seal your lips promptly, and remember not to inhale! (And yes, I've tried both walking on fire and breathing fire. It 's the Pessimal party trick and circus routine. Do it properly and it really works - no burns.)_


	4. starting a fire

_**The serious business of foolery….4**_

A fanfic set in the Guild of Fools and Joculators. It picks up the plot from the end of _**Nature Studies**_ and offers an outsider's insight into education at the Fools' Guild. The events of two other fics – _**Why and Were **_and _**Amateur Night – **_are presumed to have happened in the interim, making this about a year further on.

* * *

"Well, that went according to plan" Joan remarked, as she rejoined the other perfomers on what the fools' Guild called the "goofing station".**(1)** This was a discreet viewing gallery adjacent to the changing rooms, behind and to one side of the bandstand, from where the performers could discreetly check out each others' acts whilst being within call of dressers and their curtain call.

She stroked Brandi behind the ear, and asked if there was any water available.

"The inside of my mouth tastes like a wretched gnoll's loincloth." she explained, taking a deep appreciative swig.

"I didn't realise you'd ever eaten one." Alice said, thoughtfully.

Johanna looked on enviously. She had put motley clothing, old, clashing and ill-fitting, on over her leotard and tights, as her first appearance featured a little clowning. She wondered exactly how the Guild would receive this. Especially since her face would also be made up. Doris had quietly encouraged this, and had even discreetly checked with the Hall of Faces to be sure it wasn't inadvertently copying an existing design. Whileher face would be original, her body would still not be able to properly go to the privy for nearly and hour. So she resolutely refused a drink when Joan offered her a glass.

The current performer was Butterfly, billed as _And now! All the way from Agatea! Trained by the Disc-famous Agatean State Circus – Dancer! Gymnast! Contortionist! Miss Koucouchou-Sama!_

Butterfly had walked on, formally dressed in a rich kimono, and bowed to the civic dignitaries and to all points of the audience. Then she had thrown the kimono off to reveal….

"That's not even a leotard!" Alice had exclaimed.

There had been an exultant, carrying, Mustrum Ridcully bellow of _I say! That woman's wearin' a newzealand! _**(2)**

To her distaste, Alice had seen Mr Boggis, Thieves' Guild president, reaching for a pair of opera glasses. She noted Mrs Boggis was not present.

Having stopped the show with her costume, Butterfly proceeded to cross the ring from one side to the other in a series of aerial somersaults, back-flips, rolls and jumps. But this was just warming up: she turned a back-flip and roll into an impeccable landing on the large globe she had trained with, and proceeded to walk that around the ring, pausing only for another back-flip, even an occasional headstand.

And this was still only warming up: a large board was balanced on a free-standing cylinder resting on a table-top. She effortlessly forward-rolled from the ball to the board, and set about a new set of even more difficult gymnastic exercises, walking the board and cylinder from one table-edge to the other whilst performing single-handed handstands. And then she set a plate spinning first from a fingertip, then from a toe. Just to make it more interesting, she then moved to hoop-spinning, the Agatean way.

In the background, two stage-hands were very discreetly moving the knife-throwers' target board into place. Butterfly signalled for the lights to go on them, then went into an impromptu act finale where she back-flipped and rolled her way across the stage again. At the apex of every roll, a _shuriken,_ the deadly ninja throwing-star, appeared from nowhere and slammed into the painted human outline on the target board. None missed and all would have killed.

"_Where the dickens was she keeping those?" _demanded Joan. "Not in that costume, surely?"

"Probably hidden in the equipment and she palmed them when she needed them" suggested Alice. "Really good throwing, though. It's got her a standing ovation."

Butterfly bowed to Vetinari, collected her _shuriken_ – Assassin personal kit is too valuable to leave for others - then left the arena to tumultuous applause.

"How was I?" Butterfly asked them, fastening her kimono around her. "I hope I did not bore too much."

Downstairs in the ring, Betty was performing a few basic conjuring tricks for the dignitaries, Debbie assisting her.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, m'dear." Joan assured her. "That costume alone grabbed them by the… attention."

"Yes. Had I thought, I would have asked that impolite little man with the opera glasses to assist. There were too many people around him for me to have safely thrown a shuriken, and in any case it would have most impolitely had to pass close to Vetinari-sama. I chose to remind them I am also _ninja_ and Assassin, but throwing a blade in the direction of your Lord and Shogun would perhaps have been misinterpreted. However, taking the silly little hat off his head would have been entertaining!"

"Shogun Vetinari" mused Joan. "Now _there's_ a thought."

"Never mind Boggis" Steffi reassured her. "We all know he's a perve. We live with it."

An amused silence descended.

"Do you think that's really Vetinari down there and not Charlie?" asked Joan, thoughtfully.

Vetinari was known to have a body-double he sent out to civic functions he thought onerous or unproductive.

"That's Vetinari." Alice decided. She'd seen him lean over during Joan's act and say something, with superficial affability, to Doctor Whiteface, which had served to deepen the Doctor's frown. Charlie never spoke. He couldn't do the voice, for one thing.

"And Betty's just stung him for a tenner."

"Living dangerously."

The ringmistress placed the ten-dollar note, personally signed by the Patrician, into an envelope. She raised it high so all can see, and then set fire to it. Vetinari's eyebrow rose. Moist von Lipwig, watching intently, suppressed a grin.

"Now, are we agreed that envelope, with the ten-dollar bill in it, is goner behind recall? Now observe…."

Debbie went into a mime of pointing and indicating Lord Vetinari, as Betty's fingers went to his skullcap.

"If you will permit, my lord…"

She produced an identical envelope.

"If you will be so kind as to open the envelope…"

Vetinari did so. He held the note to the light.

"I cannot help noticing, miss Richardson, that this is in fact a _one_-dollar note?"

Betty looked hurt.

"Sir I'm insulted you should have raised that! I am a Thieves' Guild member, after all, and I've got to make a living…"

She looked at Moist, who was laughing.

"After all, sir, the Royal Bank can legally make eight dollars in loans on every dollar it has in deposit. Can we poor Thieves be blamed for wondering if we're in the wrong business?"

She paused, and went to Moist.

"Your top hat of office, please, Chairman? Thank you so much…. "

Betty then produced first a rabbit, then the flags of all nations, then a string of coloured scarves, from the golden topper, while Moist looked on appreciatively.

"no, not that… not that either…. Nor the devotional amulet of Anoia, Goddess of lost causes… ah, here it is!"

She produced another envelope and had Moist open it.

"Your ten-dollar bill, sir. As signed by you!" he announced.

Applause rang out. A note exchanged hands. Vetinari scrutinised it.

"Mr von Lipwig. I saw a ten dollar bill. But you have in fact given me another one-dollar bill?"

"Sorry, sir. Force of habit." said Moist, who hadn't been able to resist demonstrating a switch of his own to Betty, as from one bunco-artist to another. Moist von Lipwig, after all, was a honorary Lifetime member of the Thieves Guild, in recognition of his services to the Craft.

"No, that's the real Vetinari, alright" Alice said, up in the gallery. "If I'm right, he'd have made sure he was here today. The stakes are high enough!"

_T'Malia's here. She teaches Political Expediency and she'd want to see it in action. So is Lady Bobbi. She's been quietly agitating for more girls in education for a long time. Vetinari's exploiting the way the Fools got too greedy for power when they bought out the Conjurors' Guild. And ended up having to accept several hundred women members as part of the package. He's forced them to take girl pupils at their School on the back of that. Now we've been led into doing this performance to shake them up and open their eyes a bit. Downey and Boggis insisted we do this so as to be good neighbours and help out another Guild in its time of need. _

_Vetinari's using us as a lever. He wants reform of the Fools' Guild. We know there are a lot of disaffected Clowns and Fools who want change. More open-ness. More spontaneity. A lot of them are in the crowd out there. Some of the older Fools are sitting there absolutely stone-faced. They'd walk out, but don't dare leave, not while Vetinari is sitting there enjoying himself. And the younger Guild members are clapping and cheering. They're really enjoying this. _

_After we're done, there are going to be a lot of bright fresh ideas circulating underground in this Guild. There's going to be civil war. Whiteface is going to have to concede a lot. I wonder if that's the deep-down game he's playing? He knows change is inevitable, but if it sweeps him along while he's feebly objecting then he can't be blamed for it… or maybe he just wants to retire soon and let a more liberal Whiteface emerge? _

_We had to change or go under. When Doctor Cruces went insane, and Vimes – or was it Carrot? – killed him. That hurt the old-time Assassins, but it was inevitable. Is that why Vimes is here, in case a mercy blow is needed/ _

Alice lifted her head and stuck her chin out.

_Well, let's strike a blow for entertainment in this city, as the man said…_

The next act was billed as _The Flying Scissor Sisters, who will thrill you with a display of aerial acrobatics on ropes and Toledan silks!_

Alice and Steffi walked proudly into the ring together, in matching cloaks, feathered head-dresses, and high-heeled shoes. They promenaded together for the benefit of the audience, noting with distaste that bloody Boggis was back on the opera glasses.

Alice paused within stage-whispering distance of Otto Chriek, who was faithfully recording the performance on iconographs.

Under the music of the clown orchestra, she whispered

"Otto?"

"Just hold zer pose, miss Band, if you would be so kind…."

_{{Whoosh!}]_

"Otto, I'll let you off with that one if you'll do me a favour?"

"Yes, miss?"

"Get an audience shot or two. Mrs Boggis might like to see a picture of Mr Boggis with his eyes out on stalks through the opera glasses? Print it next to the picture of me. It'll go well with her breakfast cornflakes!"

"Most newsworthy idea, Miss Band! Leave me to it…"

Steffi giggled.

"Alice, you are evil!"

"I never claimed to be nice. Why do people continually think I'm the _nice_ one?"

They found their marks, shed their cloaks, and passed their shoes and head-dresses to a waiting Doris. Then they began the climb, up the marvellously light, soft and forgiving silk rope.

_I'm going to Downey the moment this is over. I will point out I did this for the good of the Guild. He owes me a favour. He can repay it as three thousand feet of this wonderful rope. That's just to __**begin**__ with. _

Taking care to make their movements slow and languorous, Alice and Steffi eschewed the usual bat-out-of-hell climbing style for one that looked good from underneath. Against all usual climbing etiquette for an Assassin and a Thief, they were climbing to be seen and they wanted it to look good.

Therefore, they built in twists, turns, and long lean-backs where the only thing holding them up there was their thigh muscles and half a heel. Just before too much blood ran to her head, Alice scrunched down on her abdominal muscles to pull her upper body right up again, to where she could get a hand to the rope. Ten feet away, Steffi was doing likewise.

They were soon fifty feet up, performing moves, spins and turns as if they had been born to it.

What helped them enormously was that both Guilds taught emergency ropework methods, for use when one or more limbs had been incapacitated in a fight or through misadventure, and the active Thief or Assassin needed to climb or descend very quickly using what functioning limbs they had left. Alice and Steffi were simply making a performance act of their respective training and experience.

_Left arm dead… secure it so it isn't flapping around and disturbing balance. Rely on your thigh and calf muscles and pull up or down from the abdomen. Both arms gone? Well, you still have legs, don't you? _

Alice allowed her upper body to lean well away from the rope, using her thighs and insteps to grip, her feet dictating the speed of descent. Steffi mirrored her.

There were gasps – from below it looked like an uncontrollable spinning fall – but Alice remembered the stagecraft she'd learnt from Debbie and Doris.

"_When you spin or pirrouette, always fix yourself on a single spotlight. Anchor yourself to it so when it comes into view, you can stop instantly. Or you'll fall over out of dizziness. And from sixty feet, that will more than hurt."_

Alice sucked in her gut muscles and braked her spin dead with a hand on the rope. Steffi followed. Then they climbed again.

At ninety feet, they were near the release ropes attached to a support cable running to the apex of the marquee's pole.

_Reach up, pull…. And down comes the silk!_

A hundred feet or so of silk ribbon, about nine inches wide, blossomed into the air and fell to the far-below sand in a brilliant red streak. Alice extended a leg, and crossed to the silk, wrapping it around her and securing it to her insteps. She felt herself swinging away from the umbilical rope and prayed it was securely anchored. It was. Good. The next ten minutes were spent re-hashing some of the rope tricks on the silken ribbon, and adding a few more. As they descended, they diligently wrapped the silk around them, until the foot-loop on the very end cam within reach. Once her foot was secure in the loop, Alice let herself go into a controlled fall, the silk unwinding from her as she descended, sometimes head-first and sometimes feet-first. Again, she slowed a fast descent as the ground drew nearer, with Steffi maintaining height and station.

Then they climbed again. Swinging closer and closer to each other….. then apparently letting go, and crossing in a weightless unsupported instant to what had been the other's silk. As applause erupted, they leant in to each other, and their faces touched. Alice and Steffi smiled at each other, and exchanged a fleeting kiss.

And then they were spiralling in again, hands-free, to the ground, slowing and stopping a descent, then leaping onto the sand to take a bow….

"_The Flying Scissors Sisters!"_

And then the performance was halted as a group of senior Clowns, unable to contain themselves any longer, rushed at the VIP podium.

Commander Vimes, who had been watching the perfomance appreciatively, stood up and glared at them; a couple of Dark Clerks rushed in to place themselves between Vetinari and the critics.

"My Lord! Doctor Whiteface! This is intolerable! We demand you stop this...farce... immediately! It goes against all the accepted rules of Mirth!"

Alice suddenly found herself wishing for a weapon. But for some indefinible reason, she'd come out without any.

_Ah well. I'll just have to do the best I can. _

* * *

**(1) **This is British Royal Navy slang for the observation gallery provided on the bridge of an aircraft carrier, where non-essential personnel such as Admirals may be kept safely out of the way of anything important with a grandstand view of aircraft taking off and landing. It helps to keep them occupied.

**(2) **See _**The Lost Continent, **_where Mrs Whitlow designs and wears one of those discreet bikini-like swimsuits favoured by women of a certain age and bodily shape. This was described as _a newzealand – _two landmasses separated by a relatively narrow strait. Pretty Butterfly's is much, much, skimpier than this and almost certainly leaves off the vestigial modesty-skirt. How the Roundworld name for a place whose Discworld referent is The _Foggy Islands_ arrived on the Disc is anyone's guess. But then, expat New Zealanders get _everywhere.(Hi, Fiona). _There's probably one serving behind the bar in the Mended Drum right now.


	5. Dissent

_**The serious business of foolery….5**_

A fanfic set in the Guild of Fools and Joculators. It picks up the plot from the end of _**Nature Studies**_ and offers an outsider's insight into education at the Fools' Guild. The events of two other fics – _**Why and Were **_and _**Amateur Night – **_are presumed to have happened in the interim, making this about a year further on.

* * *

Doctor Whiteface faced down his rebellious Clowns and Fools. Twenty or so senior Clowns, including members of the Council of Mirth, had been unable to bear the spectacle of novel and innovative circus performing any longer and had rushed the VIP box at the Permanent Marquee in protest.

It was a tense stand-off. Several Dark Clerks, who had hitherto been watching the performance as appreciatively as anyone, had leapt into action to protect Lord Vetinari, who remained impassively silent, having made it clear he expected Whiteface to deal with an internal Guild matter on his own premises.

Oner of the civic dignitaries invited to watch the performance, the Duke of Ankh, had left his seat and was also putting his body between the dissident Clowns and the Patrician, as his duty of Commander of Watch obliged him to. His body language also said that if any clown intended any injury or upset to Lady Sybil, who was also in the select non-Guild audience, his sense of humour would be so stretched as to become non-existent.

Meanwhile, an audience of Guild members, most of whom had been enthralled by the new circus acts they were seeing as well as the inventive re-interpretation of old ones, was hissing and unprecedentedly expressing dissent at its elders. And watching all this were several Assassins, who, in a different sort of unprecedented action, were all virtually unarmed. Well, it's hard to conceal knives or blowpipes when all you're wearing is spangly tights and a tight figure-hugging leotard.

Alice Band, who had just concluded an unintendedly show-stopping rope act, looked around her: she wasn't surprised the loudest applause and most sustained cheering had come from a solid block of Dorises, conjurors' assistants that the Fools' Guild had reluctantly had to admit (but only as associate members) when it had taken over the Conjurors' Guild. Now, the off-duty Dorises were setting up a slow handclap in protest at the interruption to the show; some of the more rebellious junior Clowns and Fools were taking up the beat.

"No, no, no, no and NO!" Doctor Whiteface said, firmly.

"You misunderstand, I think. Firstly. This is not a public performance. It is true civic dignitaries have attended, but this is by way of thanks to fellow Guilds who have generously leant their staff to us in preparation for the Big Change later this year.

"I have been advised by Mr Boggis and Lord Downey that the process of admitting female students is going to be an experimental, learning, process. It will be slow and it will represent a learning process for ALL of us in which a degree of change is inevitable, like it or not, gentlemen!"

"Well, refuse to admit them, then! Why should we accept change forced from outside?"

Whiteface glared at his accuser. Alice was reminded of the strenuous objections put up by Mr Mericet to her Guild accepting female teachers, let alone pupils. Yet Mericet had been won round in the end.

"_Change is inevitable!" _Whiteface repeated, loudly. "Look at the Guild of Barber-Surgeons. For a long time they refused to adapt. They clung to the good old days and old methods. They refused to accept that the Guild of Doctors practiced medicine far more effectively and with a greater success rate than they did. For a long time they petitioned the Patricians to expel the Igors from our city. They refused to accept change and reality. And look at them now! Formerly one of the powerful Guilds, they are today a rump of seven or eight embittered and elderly old men practicing ineffectual medicine and very bad haircuts to a dwindling elderly client base. Their best surgeons saw reality and applied to be retrained by the Doctors. Their best barbers are now part of Conina Harebut's Guild of Hairdressers. _I will not watch over this Guild dwindling and fading that way! "_

Whiteface silenced the assembly with his words. He quietened down and added

"And I mention Mrs Harebut for a reason. She is representative of the biggest single change to come to this city in many, many, years. Our women have an unprecedented degree of freedom and are rising to positions of power and influence. As Guild Financial Officer, our own dear Miss Drapes now sits on the Council of Mirth. Are you going to tell her she cannot do the job of Bursar as well as a man could? Are you? Go on, she's only sitting _here_!"

The old Clown paled under his slap as the thin and determined- looking Miss Drapes rose from her seat and glared at him. He shook his head.

"I only meant, sir, that this business of women in the performing and comedic arts is un-natural. Everyone knows they have got no sense of humour."

Several hundred women all made a dismissive "Hah!" noise, more or less in time and using much the same noise.

"So what have we been watching for the last three quarters of an hour, then?" Whiteface asked, reasonably. "I repeat. This is an experimental performance, being held behind closed doors. We say women have no place in the comedic and circus arts, but where in the Guild records is there an account of anyone having tried to prove this point before? We are on the brink of accepting female pupils to the School. A performance like this is an _experiment_, Brother Japester. We are witnessing, possibly for the first time, what women can do. And armed with this knowledge, we can go on to teach our girl students when they arrive."

"But this is still an outrage and an offence against nature!" Japester continued. For the first time he turned to the Patrician.

"My Lord, if Doctor Whiteface will not listen, I _demand _that you stop this travesty!"

Vetinari, who had been following the argument, turned and raised an eyebrow. He took time before replying.

"You _demand?_" he asked, in a level voice. "You can demand nothing of me. I am but a guest on Guild premises. I have seen nothing that threatens the security of the City. It is up to Doctor Whiteface, as head of your happy family of entertainers, to impose the will of the Guild upon its members in its own house. I have, in fact, witnessed several daring, spectacular, _innovative _and, I am forced to say it, most entertaining, performances from some very talented and creative ladies! And no doubt, with the minimum of argument or debate, I will soon witness the first of several more entertaining performances?"

Vetinari turned to Doctor Whiteface.

"Unless Captain Billy "Clapstick Jack" Nodger and the Jolly Good Pals are booked to perform here today, I can only assume they are here to make detentions among Guild members who, in defiance of Guild law, are disrupting a legitimate Guild performance?"

He nodded towards the Guild's enforcers, who were cautiously entering the ring to the tune of "A Shot in the Dark" from the orchestra. Alice spluttered with laughter. She had last heard the tune at a Ladies' Night at the Blue Cat Club, where a member of the Strippers' Guild had entertained with a magic act that consisted of chasing a rogue red handkerchief through the recesses of her clothes. She kept capturing it, removing an article of clothing every time, but it kept re-appearing, eventually leaving the magician naked on stage, with the red hanky having the last laugh when she made it re-appear from a _very_ intimate place. Alice had considered booking her for this show, but had been persuaded not to, on the grounds that there were limits.**(1)**

_Somebody in the band's evidently seen her act too…_

Alice and Steffi politely stood aside for the Pals, who stomped in force up to the podium. Captain Nodger stamped to attention and threw up a salute.

"From whom do you take your orders, Captain?" Whiteface asked.

"From you, sir. Doctor Whiteface."

"Are you happy with women being admitted to the Guild, Captain?"

"If you and the Council think it's a good idea sir, yes. Not thought about it much either way, sir, to be honest!"

Whiteface nodded.

"Thank you, Captain. Please escort these gentlemen back to their seats, and see they neither leave, not disrupt the event again?"

"Right you are, sir! Now come on, Mr Japester, sir, I don't want to have to do any physical comedy routines on you…"

And so the protest ended.

Performances resumed with a slight change to the running order. To focus everyone's eyes and attention, Betty sent in another spectacle, Dolores de Guttieriez and Pretty Butterfly, who performed a mixed trapeze and tightrope act eighty feet up.

"However highly bred they are, this is _still _an Ankh-Morpork audience!" Joan observed, as Doris helped her make up. "They'll appreciate the art and the skill of it, naturally, but not half as much as they will if somebody falls off. Something to tell the grandchildren. Let that be a lesson to you two the next time you muck about on ropes eighty feet up!"

"Lesson received!" said Steffi, cheerfully. She was going to go on as one of Joan's assistants, and then that was it, for her, until the Condor Sisters flew as the finale. "But it's really good fun, isn't it?"

Joan smiled, and stroked her dog Brandi's neck lovingly. Brandi had a role to play in her next headline act. Joan remembered a time a few months previously when her dog had helped carry off an inhumation. She had felt a little bit guilty about it, but it was the only way to get close to a very paranoid client who had aroused her interest. He had been a total tick of a man who maltreated his wife and who, rumour had it, had forced himself on several maidservants. She had never been able to get to the bottom of the rape allegations, but it was telling that Keble's Job Exchange had blacklisted him as an employer of female domestics.

After some observation of the client, Joan had decided the best way to conclude the contract would be with an approach in the street, in broad daylight. He usually went for a walk, flanked by two enormous troll bodyguards, in the early afternoon.

But the trolls had not paid excessive attention to the old blind woman, dressed in black, tapping her way down the street, led by an attentive Labrador guide-dog on a harness that barked at obstacles and stopped its owner at dangerous kerbs and road junctions.

Even trolls can respect the blind, the infirm and the elderly: one had courteously stepped aside for her, and cheerfully said "you is walking straight into a troll, ma'am. We is built broad. Step three paces to your left and you'll be clear of me".

Joan had almost felt sorry for spoiling his day. But as they passed behind her, she had pushed the dark glasses up on her forehead, retrieved the loaded blowpipe from where it had been nested inside her hollow white stick, aimed, and fired. **(2)**

The client jumped and cursed those bloody biting insects. Then, ten paces further on, the poison took effect, and he fell, stone dead.

She paused only to replace the blowpipe inside the white stick and post the notified Guild of Assassins receipt to his home address, then made her way back to the Guild, unheeded by all, a blind woman with a dog and a white stick. But ten thousand dollars richer. (She did later pay a thousand dollars to a charity that trained guide dogs for the blind).

_And now! Possibly the most unique knife-throwing act on the Disc! Once seen, never forgotten… Blind Peg and Brandi!_

The first person to appear on the ring was Johanna, dressed in clown motley created by cutting up and randomly reassembling garish-coloured clothing bought from the shonky shop.

She ran on as if escaping some terrible pursuer, looking this way and that for salvation. Then as Joan entered the ring, she leapt four feet into the air in mock-fear and carried on running for cover she couldn't find.

Joan entered to huge laughs. Also in motley, but wearing dark glasses and tapping a white stick in front of her, a Labrador guide-dog leading her in, and wearing several bandoliers of knives slung over her shoulders.

Brandi gave an enormous bark at the sight of Johanna, and pulled her mistress in disorganised pursuit. Seemingly directed by her dog's barks, Joan started throwing knives, landing within inches of Johanna's fleeing feet. One went well off target and landed six feet in front of Vetinari: Brandi looked reprovingly at Mistress and gave an extra-large bark of disapproval.

Johanna fled, leaping onto a pedestal and hiding behind a wall of wooden planking. She theatrically wiped her brow in "_safe at last_!" exaggerated relief, and then the wooden wall turned on its turntable…. To reveal she was standing in front of the knife-thrower's target board, the one with the human silhouette obligingly painted on it.

She did a comedy double-take, then leapt into the air again as if seeking to flee. But the knives were coming at her thick and fast now, outlining her arms and legs in blades.

In the background, Steffi was collecting the knives that had lodged in the sand during the chase, Brandi receiving a huge laugh as she diligently assisted in retrieving knives and returning them to Mistress, dropping them obediently at her feet.

Finally, Johanna got a chance for revenge: Joan juggled a couple of apples, placing one on her head, seemingly naware Johanna had been given a crossbow by Steffi. However, as she sighted on the apple, Brandi leapt at her with a great big "Woof!", seemingly forcing her to jerk the crossbow into the air and fire it into the roof space

Johanna shrugged, in a "no harm done" sort of way, and then an over-large chicken, thrown down by an obliging stagehand, fell from the roof – in the wings, Dolores made a diminishing "Squwakkk!" noise - causing her to duck and roll out of the way.

Then thee three took a bow: Joan fixed Whiteface with an unblinking stare as he realised she'd had her face-paint done in the "auguste" manner.**(3)** He looked startled for an instant, but joined in the applause and nodded at Joan, she thought almost in acceptance.

_And if those laughs didn't prove women can do clowning – and __**funny**__ clowning – then there's no justice. Something else for them to argue about after the performance! _

* * *

**(1) **It's out there. Google on Roundworld (London) performance artiste Ursula Martinez, who does the "Hanky Panky" stripping magician act. You-Tube has a version, but it cuts out when she gets to her underwear. The full unexpurgated version is out on the Web – classy, sexy, and a very, very, funny send-up of both stage magic and stripping. Ursula evidently has a doppelganger on the Discworld.

**(2) **I know. This is very reminiscent of the assassination attempt on de Gaulle in **"_Day of the Jackal_", **isn't it...

**(3) **In the hierarchy of Roundworld clowning, "auguste" denotes a clown one step down from Whiteface. Usually the face-paint is done in a very pale pink or lemon yellow, almost white, base with little adornment, symbolising the last few impurities that need to be removed before pure white may be bestowed.


	6. Enter the Lions

_**The serious business of foolery….6**_

Continuing the story….

_**Kids! Lion-taming and related large animal acts are not safe and should not be tried at home! **_

* * *

"There will now be a short intermission!" announced Betty the ringmistress. "While the ring is rebuilt for the next performance, we invite you to marvel at the House Band of the Fools' Guild. Alternatively, soft drinks, light snacks and other refreshments will be sold from the concession stalls at the top of Aisles A and H! " Then the schoolteacher in her took over. "Move quietly, _do not run! " _as the rush began from a clued-up audience knowing exactly what was coming.

"You don't think we over-did it by going on in clown paint, do you?" Johanna asked Joan, as they returned to the performers' gallery.

"I wondered about that too" Joan said. "Clowns can get rather _intense_ about that sort of thing. Thankfully Whiteface seemed more surprised than anything else. I did take care not to use anyone else's Face, though. They really can't stand that, especially after the De'Ath business a few years ago!"

She paused, and added

"Who's on next?"

Dolores answered for her:

"There's a bit of an interval while they set the ring up for the next act. That's _you_, Johanna. So you'd better use the time to clean your face and get into character!"

There was a distant growl, as of a large animal expressing dissent with the way it was being handled. Johanna smiled. They'd arrived, then. She looked down into the ring, where a clown marching band was filling in the necessary hiatus by playing and counter-pratfalling around the ring, while other clowns energetically pulled too hard on trombones and pulled the bone end out, then looked puzzled at the pieces as if to show _how did that happen?_ consternation. The general effect was as spirit-lifting as a large valium and as funny as root canal work without anaesthetic would be.**(1)** The noise was excruciating.

"Clever girl, Betty" observed Joan. "She's done this deliberately. It's like asking the question, _After what you've just seen, do you really want to go back to __**this**__?"_

Indeed, the audience were drifting off in search of drinks, popcorn, sausage-inna-bun, and other forms of entertainment. All except the small block of dissident senior Clowns, who were pointedly being prevented from getting up by the Pals. The bored looks on the faces of the Guild's in-house police said it all: _if we've got to sit through this, chummy, you're going to appreciate it as well. It's your sort of clowning. You want this._

Vetinari was chatting affably to Lady Sybil Ramkin and Lady de Meserole, but other dignitaries, faced with conventional clowning, were looking bored and restless. Sam Vimes stepped into the ring and lit a cigar, daring anyone to stop him – in fact, he had a short sharp argument with a Clown, which culminated in Vimes shouting "But I'm standing in the world's largest bloody ashtray, aren't I? Look at it, man, it's four inches of bloody _sand!_ If you've got inflammable sand, then congratulations, you've rewritten one of the fundamental sodding laws of alchemy!"

The protesting clown was about to say more, then paled when Adorah Belle Dearheart joined Vimes and asked him for a light. Faced with two of the Disc's most militant smokers, the hapless clown very wisely retreated.

While all this was going on, workmen were steadily and unhurriedly bringing in large panels of sturdy wire fencing, about twelve feet long by ten high, and erecting these in secure concrete block footings right at the edge of the ring. As each section went up, it was chained and padlocked tightly to its neighbours.

Betty addressed the crowd again.

" Ladies and gentlemen, the cage you see being erected around you is _an absolute prerequisite_ of our next performance. When the Public Health secretariat at the Palace learnt we were going to put on this show, they demanded absolutely nothing less! What you are going to see when we resume our show will be extremely, utterly, dangerous and requires a skilled practitioner. The demonstration you will witness has never been seen – in the circus – before and if anything goes wrong, we have not just an ambulance waiting ready outside, but a priest of the appropriate religion to give Last Rites _and _an undertaker's hearse and an empty coffin, just to cover our bets! Bets, I said? Not even Mr Scrote Jones at the Gamblers' Guild would give odds on this one!

"In five minutes time the finale of our show commences! Be sure to be back in your seat by then and remember – the cage is there for _your _protection!"

"Nice build-up" Joan said approvingly. More large animal growling and roaring could be heard in the distance.

"Are you sure it's safe, m'dear?"

"Es safe es cetching a bus!" Johanna said, shedding the last of her motley and reaching for the red frock-coat. After consultation with Betty, she had decided to wear a Howondalandian bush-hat with her rig, partly for show and partly to distinguish herself from the ringmistress.

"Er… you _did_ hear about the big collision between three buses yesterday? Eighteen taken to the Lady Sybil?"

"You know whet I mean. In eny case, I picked those enimels myself, they were ell fed yesterday, so they won't want to eat egain before tomorrow, and they'll be just lively enough to be interesting. They're ell pest the sleeping it off stage end they'll ell hev full bellies. Just right. Kiff!"

Johanna cracked her whip twice for emphasis, knowing this would be just as audible to the crowd as the lions. She saw Vimes, who had seen her in action, grin and say a few words to Adora Belle, who replied in her usual sardonic frowning manner.

Then she went downstairs and turned in to the far end of the tunnel.

"Ell set, bro?" she asked one of the Zoo golems. She could see the lion cages, with their occupants pacing restlessly.

"On The Signal, We Take The Cages To The Mouth Of The Tunnel. Then We Allow The Lions To Leave And We Direct Them Towards The Arena. We Then Wait Out Of Sight In The Tunnel, And Watch. We Intervene If There Is Real Risk Or If The Show Does Not Go According To Plan. What Is A "Bro"?"

Johanna smiled.

"Howondalandian sleng. It means "boy" or "friend" or "brother"."

"Miss Dearheart Came With Us. She Said She Wanted To See How We Were Getting On At The Zoo. I Think It Was Really Because She Wanted To See Some Of The Circus And Was Annoyed She Had Not Been Invited."

Johanna smiled. Schmendrick, in his own way, was a humorist and a gossip.

"I leave it with you, Mr Schmendrick. My life is in your hends."

She paused, and added

"Kiff, bro!"

"Is Kiff, Miss Smith-Rhodes!"

Johanna grinned, and went just far enough down the tunnel to see into the ring without being seen.

One of the workmen, deputed by his fellows, edged nervously towards her.

"We're done for now, miss. Is it safe?"

"The lions are still in their cages. You are perfectly safe!"

He shot her a look, part fearful, part admiring.

"And you're going to…"

She nodded, and allowed her whip to uncoil lazily.

"I em definitely going to. End I'll walk out intect efterwerds!"

"Rather you than me, miss" he said, leading a rush to the outside.

The arena hushed. Betty walked over from where she had just cleared the Jolly Good Pals out of the ringside, from where they had been keeping the dissidents under house arrest.

"I really wouldn't stand there if I were you" she had said, earnestly. "I'm just going to say my piece and then I'll be running like Hell to get out!"

Another lion roared. They had taken the hint and passed, or rather rushed and tripped over each other, through one of the last sections of the ring to be sealed off. Betty's next call had been Otto Chriek, now taking his iconographs from behind the barrier.

"Otto? I'm not trying to censor the Press. But it's vitally important there be no salamander flashes during this act. Do you hear me? In fact – take a break. Sit down. Watch the performance. You'll soon see why the performer has said "absolutely no flash iconography". She wants no distractions for the animals she's working with. She'll let you take pictures afterwards. But not during her show. Or she'll find twenty inventive, painful and wholly novel ways to inhume a vampire. She'll do it, too. She's the one who worked out how to inhume werecreatures, **(2) **and you know how hard _they_ are to kill!"

Checking her escape route was clear, as good Thiefcraft dictates, Betty introduced the penultimate act.

"_And now! All the way from Howondaland! An act never before seen in circus! Possibly the most insanely dangerous act __**ever **__and one only an Assassin could have come up with! My lords, ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce miss Johanna Smith-Rhodes, who will be accompanied by her performing lions!"_

Then Betty bolted for cover in a fast run, leaping for the lower edge of the performers' gallery, where helping hands drew her over the balcony. It raised a laugh, and Johanna strode confidently, majestically, on stage.

"_My ect depends on the whip!" _she announced. " I will introduce you ell to my friend the whip. In Howondaland, a whip is called a _sjaembok. _It can take many different forms end lengths depending on the purpose, from a short riding crop…. to _this_!"

The props table was where she had asked for it to go. Good.

And the candles had been lit. Kiff.

To warm her audience up, Johanna introduced them to whip-work, Howondaland style.

There was a gasp of admiration as the first candle split in two. Vertically, down its length. And both halves stayed lit. To prove this was no fluke, she did it again, twice. Then she flicked the whip just so. This time it didn't crack, but the tip coiled itself around one of the lit candles. She swung it so it lighted an unlit candle, then dropped the lit half.

"The whip is a precision instrument" she said. "In my school clesses, woe betide the naughty boy trying to pess a note in the beck row. They soon learn….." the whip snapped again and took the slip of paper from the joke false hand on the props table "…thet this does not heppen in my clesses. End their fingers sting!"

"Sometimes I get en epple for the teacher. But es I teach et the Essessins' School…"

A row of three apples were halved and then quartered

"…you cen get worse then worms in the epple from a pupil!"

The crowd thundered applause.

"Hev you seen enough of the whip?" she called.

"No! You heven't whipped eny blecks yet!" somebody heckled, in an poor imitation of a Howondalandian accent. Johanna felt an instant of rage, but let it pass, seeing two of the Pals running in the direction of the heckler. The Guild enforcers were enthralled by her act too, and didn't want interruptions. They could be trusted to deal with it.

She shut out the half-glimpsed scuffle and the sight of a Jester being dragged out by the bells.

She repeated

"Hev you seen enough of the whip yet?"

"Yes!"

"Then you will see more of it now, es we are taught to use it in Howondaland! _**Release the lions**_!"

The scuffling and growling grew nearer. There was an ear-splittingly loud roar. Johanna centred herself and focused, standing without fear in the middle of the ring. Then the lions, three fully-grown males and a lioness, padded in, to shock and consternation from the audience. She allowed them a second or two to orientate themselves, and prayed Otto Chriek had got the message about no iconography. Fire a salamander in any of their eyes and she'd have a berserk lion to deal with.

The lions blinked, and registered the human female in red who was pointing a whip at them. From their point of view, fearless red-haired human females with whips were not to be trifled with. They'd learnt that lesson in hours of painstaking rehearsal.

One, however, roared a greeting. He recognised his human foster-mother who had reared him from a rejected cub.

"Not now, Klarenz" she hissed, shaking her head. She wondered again about why his mother had rejected him. Was it to do with his eye problems?

The whip cracked, and cracked, and cracked again. Being careful not to actually hit them – another surefire way of making a lion angry – Johanna steered and controlled their movements and postures. They sat, laid down, stood, and reared to order.

Except Klarenz**(3)**, who went right when he should have gone left, and seemed to have problems following the lead of the rest of the pride. Johanna played on this for a moment of comedy, walking up to him and tutting, shaking her lead as she mimed the difference between left and right. He reared partly up, offering her first his left then his right paw. She loudly said

"LEFT paw, Klarenz!" and

"RIGHT paw, Klarenz!" as he showed her his forefeet.

Then she turned to the audience and said, shaking her lead, "I'm _certain_ this one is part-troll!" which drew a laugh.

Then she turned to reinforce control over Lucinda Rustie, who she had named after a particularly thick and vicious pupil, and who was a lioness it was not wise to turn your back on for too long. Lucinda **(4)** was stirring and beginning to growl, sensing Johanna's attention was elsewhere. A few cracks of the whip solved that, and Johanna realised it was time to take an enthralled audience to the finale. Lions have short attention spans: she knew it would not be safe to keep them working for longer than twenty minutes.

She beckoned Schmendrick and Gevalt to enter the ring, but stop just inside the arena.

"Ladies and Gentlemen" she said. "My last demonstration for you tronight is genuinely dangerous. This is why I hev requested that my golems be visibly present, as they cen step in if things get out of control. I esk you for complete silence. Except for the drummer, of course."

To a slow dramatic drum roll, she bent over in front of Klarenz, the only lion she could trust with this. It had begun when she had had to treat his toothache and scale his back teeth. After feeling the pain relief, woman and lion had trusted each other more and more, and anyway this was the only way to get at those _verdammte_ back grinders.

Klarenz obediently opened his mouth futhrer and further…Johanna took a deep breath against the old-food miasma and feline bad breath, and to screams from the crowd, put her head inside, in between the massive jaws. The lion sat there passively, not even biting gently. Johanna counted to ten, slowly, then slowly, steadily, withdrew her head.

She stood and took a bow, to a musical sting and a standing ovation.

"_Miss Johanna Smith-Rhodes!" _Betty announced, as Johanna set about steering the lions back towards the tunnel, the two golems falling in to lead them back to the cages.

She ran back to the ring and took several bows.

_I could quite like this performing, _she thought. _It gets into the blood._

"There will now be another intermission" Betty announced, "as the cage is removed in preparation for our grand finale – yes, we have _one_ amazing act left – The Flight of the Condor Sisters. These birds really fly!

"In the interim, the Fools' Guild School's Grade Five Clowning Students will be pleased to perform for you. Refreshments are still available!"

* * *

**(1) **that is, for the average sadistic dentist.

**(2) **See my story** Why and Were. **

**(3) **Most readers are probably too young to remember, but an appallingly politically incorrect TV drama played out in Britain in the 1950's, during the last years of African empire. Set in Kenya, and aimed at children, _**Daktari **_was about a British family working in the colonies, who raised and restored to health otherwise stricken or orphaned wild animals with the aid of suitably good-natured but servile black natives. A star of the show was Clarence the Cross-Eyed Lion, who genuinely had been raised from abandoned cub-hood and was as tame as a lion can get. _**Daktari **_was repeated ad infinitum until the early 1970's, when African colonies were a receding memory, and finally retired as it was not held to be in harmony with modern post-Imperial multi-racial Britain.

**(4) **Lucinda Rust, bedraggled, three stone lighter, and suitably re-educated, did in fact make it back in time to qualify as a Licenced Assassin. If you recall, she had been dumped in Howondaland at the end of _**The Graduation Class**_ to make her own way home within a deadline. She made it, and later was delighted to be informed a lioness at the Zoo had been named after her. "It must be because I'm sleek, graceful and a natural-born killer!" she proclaimed to anyone who would listen. Johanna smiled and said nothing.


	7. Blood on the Sand

_**The serious business of foolery….7**_

Continuing the story….

_**Kids! If you can't guarantee the bungee rope is shorter than the drop, don't jump!**_

* * *

_**Prologue:-**_

Ankh-Morpork, greatest and most sprawling of cities, probably has a minority community from every other nation on the Disc.

When the first immigrants arrived from faraway Paraquat, a country of jungles and high steep mountains populated by a melting-pot of Stinca Indians, Toledans and Hergenians, they looked and smiled at the spectacle of children dancing around a maypole, winding their multicolour ribbons around its staff until they criss-crossed it in an almost regular pattern.

"Oh, yes," said the Stincas. "We do something similar to celebrate the coming of Spring. Only we don't just _dance_. ¡We have something else, too!"

_**Four months and two weeks before the Monstrous Circus:-**_

Mrs Sandra Battye, of the fairly new Guild of Prostitutes**(1), **carefully turned the iridescent tunic over in her hands and noted its intricate needlework.

"Three of these? And you say they're for a circus troupe? Yes, I can do all the necessary repair work and replace the gaps where the feathers have fallen out. This is gorgeous workmanship! The only worry is that I might not be able to match all the colours. The raw material can be hard to come by. The Zoo collects and sells ostrich and peacock feathers and cast-offs from its birds, but there's real competition for them, from the couturiers and milliners, and from the theatres and Opera House. "

Dolores de Guttieriez crossed her legs and smiled.

"The Assassins' Guild maintains an Animal Management Unit where it has very large aviaries for tropical bird species." she said. "I was talking to Miss Smith-Rhodes, who says she'll make sure you get all the exotic bird feathers you need for this, with some to spare for any similar work you do."

"Lovely!" said Sandra. "I really want to take this job on, it looks so interesting!"

They agreed a price, and Dolores knew the costumes would be looking their best on the day. Mrs Battye was too good a – she frowned – ¿_prostitute_? _¿Una puta?_ ¿Pero las putas no cosen? Las putas no estan las puntandistas…. _Ah! _

Morporkian wasn't her first language, but she thought about _the prostitutes are not the seamstresses, _and an instant of realisation hit her as she contemplated the Seamstresses Guild on Sheer Street.

_¡What a crazy people!,_ she thought. A Prostitute is really a seamstress, and a Seamstress is really a… _¡No wonder Alice and Joan made absolutely sure I came to Mrs Battye!_

_**Four months before the Monstrous Circus:-**_

Oh, I get it now" said Alice Band. "It's a kind of _bunjee-jumping,_ isn't it? "

"What's that, Allie?" asked Steffi Gibbet.

Alice explained. One of her edificeering class was an overseas student from the Foggy Islands. During a recent lesson, she'd raised her hand and asked

"Miss, do you do bunjee-jumping here? That's a really fast way of descending safely."

Alice had asked her to explain, and the girl had described a popular Foggy Islands pastime, picked up from the natives, of leaping from high places with an elasticated rope attached to you. Assuring Alice that the other end had to be firmly attached or it wouldn't be fun, and of course if you were dropping two hundred feet you had to be sure the rope was only going to stretch to a hundred and ninety or you'd be in _strife_, she had described her experience with the bunjee.

Unsure at first, Alice had noted that the girl had a really good head for heights and was a fearless rope-climber. She considered.

"How many people die of it?"

"Not many, miss. And that's only if the rope comes unstuck."

"OK." Alice had said. "Come up with a working plan – a _detailed_ working plan – and I'll consider trying it. It might have some practical applications".

Later on, with the help of several expat Foggy Islanders, all of whom worked behind the bars of Ankh-Morpork pubs and all of whom were wearing tee-shirts inscribed _Dunmehedin Dangerous Sports Society, _the Assassins' Guild witnessed its first demonstration bungee-jump. Everyone witnessing it said it looked jolly dangerous, and that they were impressed the young lady only bounced off the side of the building _once_ on the way back up.

Deciding to overlook, for the moment, how a fifteen year old pupil had got to know so many barmen from city pubs, Alice was impressed.

_It needs more work. And it can't be done too close to a building or a cliffside without bouncing off the stone at least once. And a harness tied to my ankles, that means I end up helplessly dangling ten feet up, upside down, waiting for somebody else to come and release me, is no bloody good. I want it redesigning so that I end the jump with my feet pointing downwards and I have a quick-release fitting of some sort on the harness so as to let myself free. But this has distinct possibilities, if only as a new sport for the pupils. _

Alice, assuring herself her pupil only had minor bruising, congratulated her and sent her up to Lord Downey for a commendation and a sherry. She then stopped to discover the Foggy Islanders who had helped set up the jump taught the skill at weekends. She promptly booked a training course for herself and thirty pupils. At least three other teachers clamoured to go with her. Bunjee jumping had arrived in Ankh-Morpork.

"No, it's not bunjee-jumping, Alice, although I can see the similarities." Dolores said. "What we do, in the Flight of the Condors, is _this_…"

" I see." said Alice and Steffi afterwards. They looked doubtfully at each other.

"But you're still alive! " Steffi said. "And you've done this twenty or thirty times?"

"_¡Si!"_

"Ever been injured?"

"_¡Mas __verdaderamente no!_ ¡Absolutely not! ¡The procedure is very safe if all the safety rules are observed!"

"That's good enough for me!" said Steffi. "I'm in!"

"So let's get this straight." Alice said. "We're on a high platform a hundred feet up. We're attached to ropes. We're wearing large bird's wings on our arms. Then we leap off."

Dolores was dancing excitedly up and down.

"Alice, querida mia, we _fly. _¡It becomes addictive!"

Alice sighed.

"Thirty times, and not dead yet. OK, I'm flying!"

* * *

_**Meanwhile, in the circus ring. **_

The trainee Clowns leapt and capered and much falling of prats was had, largely disregarded by the audience. In the background, the workmen removed the security cage necessary for the lion taming act and hustled its sections out of sight.

Sam Vimes nodded to his local opposite number, Captain "Clapstick Jack" Nodger, as one policeman to another. Vimes know most of the heads of the various Guilds' internal security, internal police, or just plain enforcers, and tried to work with them wherever he could. If it was genuinely an internal Guild matter, Vimes was not opposed to holding a transgressor in his Watch cells for the night for their Guild to collect in the morning. It saved on paperwork. In return, he could call on occasional favours and trade-offs. He knew Nodger could be nasty and unforgiving, but the jolly Good Pals had done the City a favour by renegociating an agreement with the Musicians' Guild concerning Guild performance and membership fees that, it was claimed, were owed by the Clowns on behalf of its Band and Orchestra. Looking at the size of the bill, Doctor Whiteface had gravely referred the Musicians' Guild to that amusingly-named place in Lancre, whilst holding the door open to a substantial downward revision of the fee.

The Musicians' Guild had then sent its enforcers, who Vimes could not stand, to disrupt a circus in Sto Lat and break a few clown musicians' fingers, at least to begin with. The thugs of the Grisham Ford Close Harmony Singers had run head-on into the Jolly Good Pals, who had been waiting for them, and a demarcation dispute had ensued.

When the dust had settled and the blood in the sand needed to be raked away**(2), **the battle had easily been won by the bigger thugs, those more hardened to human misery and suffering , of the Jolly Good Pals. With the Musicans' Guild enforcers down, all Guilds and City Institutions with an interest in music thanked the Clowns most sincerely, and set about re-negociating their own fees for playing or using music. The Opera House, for instance, saw its annual subscription, (or protection money), paid to the Musicians' Guild go down by 80%..**(3)**

This won the Clowns a lot of goodwill, and even Vimes reckoned that the end of a bunch of vicious thugs, who he could not touch because of their Guild protection, was worth a nod of appreciation.

So he and Nodger were at that moment standing at the edge of the ring, sharing a quiet smoke, and discussing that crazy Howondalandian women, the one with the lions, is she tired of life or what?

"Sybil was going nuts for it!" Vimes mused. "She couldn't get enough of it. By the way, Billy, that girl, if she's insane, is methodically insane. All this kicked off during that Hide Park thing the other summer, when those bloody animals got loose. I thought I was going to end up as catfood, and the only thing I could think of was that at least I could stub my cigar out on the animal's snout to see if it backed off. And there she was, whipping them away. " Vimes shrugged. "Bloody Assassin or not, I owe her."

"Really spectacular, though." said Nodger. "I can't see that being the only performance of this lion-taming thing. "

"Clever. Those women have _really_ poked a stick into the hornets' nest with this one." said Vimes. "Tell me what you see out there, Billy. Those old-style clowns who are completely failing to hold the audience, who are just doing the same old shtick, _very badly_. And compare that to some of the other stuff we've seen here today. The acts that really had us on the edge of our seats. Which do _you_ think represents the future of the Guild?"

Nodger grunted. But there was a note of uncertainty in it. The two policemen watched the clowns in appalled silence. Then Vimes said

"All those ropes wrapped up around the central pole there. They're to do with the next performance, aren't they? The aerial spectacular?"

"Miss Dolores wound them herself." said Nodger. "It took her the best part of a day, she refused all help and said only she could do it, and they have got to be absolutely just so, or somebody could end up hurt. And she was adamant about no-one else touching them."

Vimes was already striding forwards, tossing his cigar butt down.

"Then why the Hell has that Clown there looked both ways and taken a bloody knife out of his costume?" he demanded.

Nodger did a double-take and followed him.

The clown was just beginning to cut through a rope when he saw Vimes and Nodger in pursuit.

"Stop right there!" boomed Nodger. "You're nicked!"

The clown's eyes widened, and he took to his heels and ran.

"_See nobody touches that!" _Vimes yelled, indicating the dropped knife. Avoiding capering pratfallers, they chased the clown down the exit tunnel, listening to lion roars at the other end.

* * *

"Really, though" said Johanna Smith-Rhodes, who had left the ring temporarily to supervise the welfare of her lions as their cages were loaded onto a wagon to return to the Zoo. "He genuinely is an old softy"

She had let Klarenz out of his cage to make new friends, including a photo-opportunity for Otto Chriek. Adora Belle Dearheart, who had come out to talk to her golems, doubtfully ran a hand through his belly fur. Klarenz turned his head to try to look appreciatively at her, his cross-eyes impeding his vision.

"So I could do that? It's that easy?" Adora said, petting Klarenz with more confidence.

"You've got the personality!" Johanna reassured her. "I cen teach you the whip skills end whet you need to know ebout lions".

"Please!" said Moist von Lipwig, his good-natured face signalling concern at the idea of an Adora with a whip who knew how to use it. He too had stepped discreetly outside to escape the clowns.

"That was utterly spectacular!" said Sacharissa Cripslock, who had her ever-present notebook in hand. Johanna smiled, bent down, and said something reassuring to Klarenz.

"I think you mey take your pictures now, Mr Chriek. Klarenz is very docile. But try not to fire the flesh too near his eyes!"

At that moment, the renegade Clown who had tried to cut the security rope came rushing out, pursued by Vimes and Nodger.

Seeing running men, Klarenz decided to join in the game, trotting forwards and roaring up a welcome at the funny running human in the silly clothes.

The clown shied away as the lion followed, inadvertently herding him back into the chilly grasp of Nodger. From behind them, iconograph flashes went off in quick succession.

"well, well, well!" he boomed, as Johanna stepped forward to restrain her lion. Klarenz obediently sat and let his tongue loll out.

"Maliciously damaging Guild equipment. Deliberately tampering with another performer's stage-props with the intent of disturbing their performance. You're in a hitload of trouble, sonny!"

"That looked like attempted murder to me" Vimes added. "Shame this isn't my jurisdiction, or your feet wouldn't touch!"

"Chamber of Spikes for you, my lad! Then you'd better have good reasons for what you did, as you're out of the Guild! Whether it's _terminal_ expulsion or not is up to you!"

The Chamber of Spikes, now the Fools' Guild's prison, was a hangover from when the Guild site had belonged previously to a very strict order of contemplative monks, of the sort who took mortification of the body seriously. Their monastic cells were still in use as senior students' bedrooms.

The terrified clown rolled his eyes under his makeup.

"Who put you up to this? " Vimes demanded. Nodger balled a huge hard fist and scowled. The hapless Clown flinched back.

"Whet's heppened?" asked Johanna

"This lad tried to cut the supporting rope your friend Miss Band was going to be depending on." Vimes explained.

"Really?" said Sacharissa, scribbling away. "_Attempted Murder at the Circus_"…this is going to be on pages one to seven, I can feel it!"

Johanna considered, then scowled and allowed Klarenz to nuzzle closer to the captured clown. He'd tried to kill Alice, after all, if she'd heard truly…

"_Get it off me !" _he shrieked, bundling himself into a ball.

"_It was Japester! Brother Japester! He wanted some of you dead so that's all anyone would remember afterwards!"_

"Got ambitions to take over from Doctor Whiteface." Nodger explained. "Old-time clown. Ambitious. But you all saw him earlier."

"Doesn't want girl students. Completely closed to innovation of any kind" mused Vimes. "What did he promise you?"

"Instant promotion to Grade Seven! I've been stuck at Six for years! _Get this lion off me_!"

Johanna knew that in most normal circumstances, the most damage Klarenz could cause would be with a well-aimed lick. He'd already removed a swathe of makeup from the clown's face. Besides, the golem Shtetl was standing by in case of any dificulties. You could never completely tame any lion: you could come close, but all it would take wolud be one bout of primal anger or a misjudged approach from the sort of person who thought they were only delaing with a scaled-up domestic moggie. And even domestic cats could bite and claw if annoyed. That was one of the reasons why she'd ceased to hand-rear him in her rooms at the Guild: people around were getting too nervous. It didn't help that her established pets were two Rhodesian Ridgebacks - a dog species bred to hunt lions. As they grew from puppyhood to maturity, and at first had tolerated the new arrival, Johanna thought it was asking too much of both species to live together in peace and harmony. Especially when a deeper instinct had started to switch on in the Ridgebacks. So the growing lion cub had returned to the Zoo, not without regrets. But he hadn't forgotten his early conditioning among humans at the School, and loved his human foster-mother. Who wasn't going to tell the _verdammte _murderous clown that the lion licking his face was just being friendly.

Vimes sighed.

"He's your man, Billy. Unless Vetinari decides other, and I've got to explain this to him now. Take him away".

* * *

**(1)** See my story _**The New Guild**_, which got many kind reviews.

**(2) **Blood in the sand? The modern circus is a direct descendent of the Roman arena, where clowns and acrobats were sent on to entertain the proles in between gladiatorial bouts and mass animal slaughter, while the blood and bodies were being cleared up. The sand on a circus floor is in direct line from the sand on the Coliseum floor, which was laid to soak up the blood and make housekeeping easier. Today's circus may have no delibeate bloodshed, but it's another pointer at the essential nature of clowning that it goes back to a time of human misery and painful agonizing death in front of a paying audience.

**(3) **It worked this way. You, mr Seldom Bucket, pay AM$85 per singer and musician to this Guild together with a percentage of the gross, and we, the Grisham Ford Close Harmony Singers, will not burn your lovely opera house down, so _inflammable_, isn't it, squire?


	8. The Flight of the Condors

_**The serious business of foolery….8**_

Continuing the story….

_**Kids! Man (or woman)-powered flight needs a lot of space and must not be done in your own back yard nor where there are power cables of any description! And always, always check your equipment first!**_

* * *

Johanna, with a golem in attendance, happily repeated her putting-my-head-in-the-lion's-mouth for the benefit of Otto Chriek's iconograph. Vimes had gone to report back to Vetinari and Whiteface about the sabotage attempt, with Sacharissa interestedly following on, notebook in hand. Meanwhile, Captain Nodger was conveying a prisoner to the Guild's Bridewell, the aptly-named Chamber of Spikes.

To muted groans and shrieks, she eased her head out of Klarenz the lion's jaws and stood up straight. She remembered to ruffle his mane and praise him as a big good boy.

"Didn't that…. you know, make you feel funny, the first time you did it?" asked Moist von Lipwig. Other people's work - the things they did for a living – was a matter of professional fascination for him. It usually made people feel good if you displayed an interest and people who feel good or flattered are easier to con. But this time, the fascination was genuine.

Johanna shrugged. The first time she had done it had been to assess the state of Klarenz' dentistry. It was not something she would care to have done with Lucinda Rustie – any dental work on _that_lioness would be done under full general anaesthetic – but she'd had a good feeling about Klarenz, and it was the simplest way to get to the root of a problem, so to speak.

"I could teach _you _to do it." she offered. "Or Miss Dearheart."

Adora Belle took a deep drag of her cigarette. "I notice you've got one of my golems near enough to grab the lion by the tail, if you get into trouble."

"Well, you know yourself how fest they cen move in a real emergency. If Klerenz ever chose to bite down, Gevalt here would pull his jaws open egain to let me get my head out. End the lions know that too, they see their golem keepers every dey!"

Adora nodded. "All things considered, Johanna, you don't mind if I pass on your kind offer? If only because I doubt I've got the legs for a leotard!"

"I wouldn't know, though…" murmured Moist. Adora shot him a narrow-eyed look. He grinned at Johanna. "The next time she's out of town, though, put me down for a course of lessons!"

"I think I understood what you _really_ meant with that one." Adora commented. "A lot of women wouldn't, and in any case, you _do_ know a wizard from Unseen got in there first with Johanna? A _living_ one? Just so you know."

"It's the living dangerously thing, yesno?" Johanna asked, as she encouraged Klarenz into the last of the cages. The other lions had been loaded aboard a Zoo transport cart, and she could tell the horses drawing it had become alarmed and skittish, sensing what their load consisted of. It wouldn't be fair for the carters to be delayed any more, even with three golems in attendance in case of escapes and knowing that Watch patrols had been instructed to give a dangerous load road priority. Locking the bolts on her favourite lion, she said

"I heard ebout your way with Lipzwiger dogs, Mr von Lipwig**(1)**. That impresses me, although your name is a little clue. You were brought up with such enimels, yesno, just es I wes with lerge enimels in Howondaland."

"Living dangerously.." said Moist. "That's got to apply to Assassins, right? And I bet that's why you were all keen to do those mad things in the circus ring!"

"And for some reason he does them all when I'm out of town." Adora said, deadpan. "The last time, do you know he went bunjee-jumping with those lunatic Foggy Islanders?"

"I wented to do that" Johanna said, sincerely, "but the last courses hev ell been oversubscribed end Ponder keeps trying to telk me out of it!"

"Bring him along!" Moist said. "I'll have a word with some people I know".

Adora finished her cigarette.

"And speaking of dangerous stunts" she said, as the lion-transporter rumbled off with golems in attendance, "Hadn't we better resume our seats? The show's going to be starting again soon!"

They re-entered the circus arena, to find the show was still held up. A small group, including Dolores, Doctor Whiteface, Vimes and Lord Vetinari were clustered around the central pole in intense discussion. Although interested, Johanna decided to go upstairs to the gallery to join the other performers.

* * *

"Nobody will blame you if you decide to cancel your performance" Whiteface said, his voice displaying genuine shock and outrage.

Dolores shook her head fiercely, as she assessed the light gash in the surface of the rope, all the damage the saboteur had been able to cause before arrest. Whiteface continued.

"My Lord, I must ask you to believe that I am shocked, and I knew nothing of this. It is one of the fundamental laws of clowning and performing that you do not attempt to sabotage or undermine a fellow performer's act. And to do it with death in mind is nothing short of murder! I know there was opposition to this performance, and I was ready to deal with some sort of demonstration, but I never contemplated _this_!"

"I think you now know the stakes you are playing for, Doctor." Vetinari said, briefly. "It is your decision whether to double or quit." He patted Whiteface consolingly on the shoulder. "Commander Vimes, I find the audacity of the act somewhat breathtaking!"

"Or the desperation, sir!" Vimes said, evenly. "The old-time Fools have got a lot to play for and they've seen the future_… **a**_ future… that they don't want to see. And they've seen how popular it is."

"Without, I am bound to say, breaking any fundamental rules of the clowning or circus arts." said Whiteface. "There always have been rope acts. There always have been gymnastic and acrobatic acts. Indeed, Miss Koukouchou assures me her act is 100% as taught by our brothers- in- performance of the Agatean State Circus, so how can we object to that? There have always been knife-throwing acts. And there have always been animal-performance acts, although what we witnessed today was on a scale of imagination and ability never before thought possible. Now we have conceded the decision that out Guild will accept women, and our school will accept female pupils, there _will_ be change. There _will _be change, and after today we can perceive the form this change will take. It is down to me and my successors to manage that!"

"Nobly said, Doctor!" Vetinari approved.

He and Vimes turned to scrutinise the cut rope.

"I believe the culprit was relying on what he was doing being lost in the middle of all the other bewildering and conflicting activity going on inside the ring" Vetinari mused. "Audacious. Many people might have wondered in the rope-cutting, being done so obviously in the centre of the ring, was part of the act and some amusing pratfall might result!"

Dolores sighed. She was doing mental arithmetic. The cut was shallow, and only five feet above ground, but by then the rope would be carrying her whole mass and she'd be travelling with some momentum. She believed she could carry off what the Assassins described as an Emergency Drop if the rope snapped, but if it went wrong, she'd go flying into the stalls and land on top of a lot of clowns… she decided in that case she'd aim at Brother Japester and hope she hit him square-on. It would be worth two broken legs. And the Guild did pay insurance for members killed or injured in the course of Guild-approved entertainment.

"My Lord, Doctor. There's another Guild law that goes back even further than the one about interfering with another's performance or sabotaging their equipment. It's called _¡The Show Must Go On!". _I'll perform on the damaged white cable. Alice and Steffi should be alright as they're on Blue and Red. I'll go and tell them."

Doctor Whiteface turned and regarded her for a long few seconds. Then he bowed to Dolores and took her hand.

"Spoken like a true Guild member. I am honoured to know you." he said, simply.

"Capital!" said Vetinari. "Shall we resume our seats, gentlemen?" He smiled at Dolores. "I am looking forward to your performance. I trust it goes without mishap. But then, you are a very seasoned performer, and your two colleagues are women of skill, resource and ability. _Break a leg_, as I understand this is the approved valedictory remark in these circumstances!"

* * *

Johanna made it back to the goofing platform, to standing applause mingled with hard stares.

"And you tell your _students_ not to be overconfident!" said Alice, severely.

"I could have _died _when you...you know… put your head in its mouth!" said Steffi.

"Today's star, tomorrow's lion-shit!" said Joan, severely. "Was that the bloody brute you tried to raise at the Guild, until Downey ordered you to get it back to the Zoo where it belonged? I thought so!"

"That was _spectacular_!" Doris said, feelingly.

"That has changed the circus overnight." Debbie added. "When this news gets out, everyone's going to want to see it! They won't be satisfied with clowns any more!"

"If they ever were." said Joan. "What was that bloody heckling about, anyway?"

"Oh, it sorted itself out" Johanna said, dismissively. "This bleddy jester got dregged out by the bells."

"Ouch." said Joan, after making the necessary adjustments for a Howondalandian accent. "The Jolly Good Pals don't mess about, do they?"

Johanna giggled.

"No, Joan. He was dregged out by the _bells. _You know, the metel things a jester hes on his het thet jingle. The Pels really _donnered_ the _cuiter_, though, so they might hev polished their _vaellies_ on his femily jewels, you never know."

"You're getting _very _Howondalandian, m'dear. Sometimes I suspect you do it just to confuse."

Johanna laughed.

"Did you see the expression on poor Ponder's face? That boy was really dying the death!"

"I'll hev to teach him to hev more _faith_ in me!" But she felt vaguely guilty that she'd been so far in the zone, focusing only on her lions, that she'd ignored her man. Ah well, she could make it up to him later.

"It was funny, though. Didn't you hear Ridcully? I'm surprised. His whispers _carry. _Everyone heard him saying "My Gods, Stibbons! I'd love to get me hands on that magnificent creature!" And then Boggis said to him "You _are _talking to her boyfriend, Archchancellor. And may I say the lions aren't bad either?"

Johanna's eyes narrowed.

Then Dolores came up the steps carrying three tailor's bags.

"Costumes on , girls. We're going on in one!"

There was a general "Wow!" and "Oh, I say!" as three iridescent tunics were produced. Alice and Steffi were already wearing sturdy leather harnesses about their upper bodies. They discovered the indescribably lovely tunics were spilt partway up the back allowing for access to the harnesses.

But the tunics… somebody had gone to a lot trouble over these. They glowed with tropical bird feathers, carefully graded for size and colour, sewn on to simulate the upper body and wings of a bird of paradise. The arms allowed for the wearer to spread their arms out at full reach, and were connected to the sides of the costume by a fabric webbing, also decorated in bands of iridescent feathering.

Alice barely had time to shout to Johanna:-

"I've already sorted Boggis. You'll see tomorrow!"

And then they were out in the ring again, to gasps, as the lights caught their plumage.

"_Mty lords! Ladies! And gentlemen! Our headline act! Slightly later than billed owing to a technical hitch, we can guarantee you will have never seen an aerial act like it! In a thrilling and very dangerous demonstration of aerial ballet – despite an act of attempted sabotage, for which the attacker is now justly in the Chamber of Spikes! I give you! The amazing! Flying! Condor! Sisters!" _

Three rope ladders had been dropped from the central pole. The three women climbed slowly and steadily, aware of all eyes upon them. Betty carried on building them up.

"There will be traditional Paraquatian music playing during this act, which began as a ritual to appease the fierce Gods of the Paraquatian jungle. The Goddess Chasca, the lady of Sky and Flight, and the Lady Cavavacxhille are so honoured today. Whatever our faiths, let us take a second to honour those goddesses. Thank you."

Prayer. A nice touch.

"And I must also ask for near total-silence as the ladies prepare for their Death-defying act… by the way, He's nowhere near, is he, Arch-Chancellor?You wizards always know... Excellent! And, as they release the rope ladders that they used to climb right up there…" (three rope ladders fell in crumpled heaps l to the sand and were hurriedly removed by stagehands) - "we all know there is now only one way down!"

Up aloft, on a circular platform reminiscent of the crow's nest aboard a ship, so high they could touch the canvas, the women used edificeers' self-closing clips to secure the ropes to the backs of their harnesses, which were fastened s near as Dolores could work out to each woman's centre of gravity.

"_There is no going back_!" Betty explained, in the distance. "Now just watch…"

Alice noted that the inside of the canvas marquee had handles stitched into it, possibly to make it easier to fold if it ever came down. It was a detail she wouldn't have noticed if her sense of fine detail had not been enhanced by adrenaline.

_If those handles could take somebody's weight_, she thought_, you could have a human fly act up here. It's advanced edificeering, certainty, but doable!_

Then they spaced them selves around the gantry at even intervals, sitting on the edge with their feet dangling. Dolores made the countdown.

_¡Cuatro! __¡_Tres! _¡_Dos! _¡Y Uno_!"

And then flung herself into space, head-first and to her left. They'd rehearsed this a dozen times: Alice and Steffi followed, leaping forward and to the left. From somewhere, pan-pipes and a guitar started playing.

Alice stifled a scream as the rope swung her out and down at a dizzying speed, taking two full turns before spreading her arms to open her "wings", as Dolores had taught.

Almost at once her head pulled up and her feet pointed slightly downwards. The rushing velocity ceased a little, and in defiance of all probability she felt herself _rising_ in the air a little. She felt the webbing between her arms and the side of her tunic billlow and fill, like the sail of a ship. Air began rushing by underneath her "wings" as her movement generated a wind, and this time she cried out loud, with the exultation of it all.

Alice Band was flying.

She heard the regular _poc-poc-poc_ noise as the ropes uncrossed over each other, Dolores' white pulling free first, then Steffi's red, then her own blue. Each full cycle saw them flying further out, tethered only by the rope as it unwound from the central pole. She could now put words to the eerie music.

_I'd rather be the gardener than the snail – yes I would ! If I could! I'd surely would…_

A little rational part of Alice refused to give way to the exultation of it. She'd heard that towards the Hub, crazy people on skis would propel themselves down long ramps from hundreds of feet up a mountain. Rather than hit the ground with a terminal _splat!, _these_ ski-jumpers, _in defiance of common-sense logic, almost floated down from a couple of hundred feet up, to land gently and lightly on the snowy slope below. She'd asked Ankh Morpork's ski-jump champion, Wally "_the Wowhawk"_ Wallace**(2)**, and he'd blushed behind his thick pebble glasses and said, "well, miss, the skis on your feet have a sort of… thing…effect. Like a thing you'd use**(3)**… well, they brake you, miss, in the air, and help you come down less quickly"

As Alice fell, she had glimpses of Dolores and Steffi now and again, both maintaining looks of blessed-out ecstacy. Knowing she must look like that herself, the part of her that refused to give in was still working out how it was done.

_The ropes control our speed and height, _she decided_, and effectively bring us down in a controlled spiral. We're swinging out like weights on a pendulum. That gives the momentum. That builds the speed which creates a rush of air around us, like a local wind. And these tunics might not help us fly, but they're certainly good for gliding! _

Then she let go and listened to _El Condor Paso _as she gave way to the ecstacy. _No wonder Dolores begged us to do this with her! No wonder she's done this thirty-odd times! It's addictive!_

She swung out further, her circular glide getting further and slower as she descended. Twenty feet. Fifteen feet. Ten. Get ready to land…. She lowered her legs and began running even before touching down, with the lightest of bumps. She looked across, and saw Dolores lurch and wobble slightly at an unexpected kink in the rope, but a couple of hops and skips helped her regain her balance as they circuited the ring, running off the last of their momentum. As taught, she ran to the VIP box to take a bow, Steffi and Dolores falling in beside her.

_The Flying Condor Sisters!"_

And then it was a standing ovation, and they let themselves bask in the glory of the moment. **(4)**

* * *

**(1)** See _**Going Postal **_by Terry Pratchett for details.

**(2) **Wally The Wowhawk was thought of as an an embarrassment in some circles. Ankh-Morpork was not exactly cut out for winter sports of the conventionally accepted kind, save those that happened in the rain (the city's usual default winter climate). Therefore only Wally, who paid his own way, plus a couple of fey ice dancers, plus the rich and self-financing Assassins' Guild bobsleigh team, tended to represent Ankh –Morpork at the Hubland Winter Games. Wally always managed to ski-jump just far enough to qualify but never really much further than that, and more sophisticated nations looked on him, as the living examplar of Ankh-Morpork, with disbelief, tinged with a certain disdain. **It is fair to say that the more civilised Hubland nations, descended as they wee from old-time barbarian warriors who prized bravery above all in a man, liked him and respected his sheer essential nerve. **

**(3) **He'd never heard of a parachute, but perhaps had had an inspiration particle containing the genus of one.

**(4) **The Condor Dance, as I have described it, is still performed in Mexico, and Central and South America, to this day, an Indian custom that survived the Spanish.


	9. Graduate Fools

_**The serious business of foolery….9**_

Continuing the story….

_**Kids! Murder is wrong, nasty, sends out entirely the wrong image (unless done with cool and style) and should be avoided as a career path as it generally leads to tears. Unless, of course, you join the Assassins' Guild and learn to do it properly….**_

"What do you mean, _escaped_!" Vimes shouted.

Captain Billy "Clapstick Jack" Nodger shuffled his feet nervously in his over-large clown shoes.

"Well, sir. We're not used to arresting people who sit on the Council Of Mirth. _Really_ high-ranking clowns just a grade or two below the Doctor."

Vimes felt some of his anger evaporating. He'd felt that way too, in the old days: only the experience of arresting Vetinari had driven the last of that sort of servile deference out of him. He felt himself sympathising with Nodger. It was a lesson the clown policeman was going to have to learn himself.

"We escorted Brother Japester to his room. I informed him he was under house arrest pending investigation by the Doctor and the Council. He gave his word of honour as a gentleman and a clown that he wasn't going to escape. Um."

Vimes nodded, sympathetically. He'd been there too, more or less.

"Well, let's recapture him. Doctor, I need his eggshell. You know, from the Hall of Faces. Otto, I want iconographs of his Face. For my Watchmen. And put out a priority clacks, please, to the Watch on my authority. I know you've got a mast here. "

Doctor Whiteface nodded, knowing what Vimes was up to.

"I'm sorry, Sam. Not up to speed with your thought processes here." Lady Sybil said, puzzled. Sam smiled.

"It takes some thinking about, dear, but Carrot worked it out a few years ago. We're looking for a renegade Clown. While the offence was committed here on Guild premises, he's now on the run _outside _the Guild. Which puts him in _my_ jurisdiction."

Doctor Whiteface nodded confirmation. Vimes went on.

"He's going to be at a really big disadcantege trying to hide out there, as he can't disguise himself. Carrot worked out that it's utterly unthinkable for a Clown to wipe his slap off – his true face – and go bare-faced to the world. It's even more unthinkable for a Clown to put any other makeup on than the one, and only the one, clownface that belongs to him. They're conditioned to do it this way and no other. As they all register their true face here, where an example is painted on an eggshell and filed, I've asked for Japester's egg so Otto can make himself useful and iconograph it for me. I'll circulate this picture to the Watch, and then the lads can compare it to any Clowns they find out and about in town. In fact, Doctor, it would help enormously if you put the word out that all Clowns return to the Guild until further notice. That way it spares work for my lads. I'll be closing all city gates to Clowns, by the way. Any trying to leave town will be detained until eliminated from this enquiry."

"We think he may be seeking to get to Quirm or Müning, in Überwald" Whiteface said. "The Guild has large branches in both cities, and both tend to be more conservative than we are."

There was a diplomatic silence while people contemplated an even more strict-rule Fools Guild than the one we've got here.

Lord Vetinari broke the silence.

"If Brother Japester reaches either city," he said, "then he has a power-base of sympathetic Clowns who will offer him sanctuary and a safe haven from which to co-ordinate opposition to Doctor Whiteface and to make a bid for leadership of the Guild. It would perhaps be advantageous if we did not let this happen."

"I'll clacks the _Gendarmerie de Quirm_ and the Müning Polizei, sir" Vimes said. "A senior Clown to be arrested on sight, suspected of conspiracy to murder as well as breaking guild rules."

"I will also clacks our affiliate Guilds with the information that Japester has broken Guild law." said Whiteface. They may not believe me, but they will wonder."

Vimes nodded, trying not to grimace. Politics, the bane of good police work. He excused himself and went to rouse the Watch to stop all clowns at the city gates and to contact the police forces in Quirm amd Müning.

"Doctor, I can have people on the trail of Brother Japester within _minutes._" Lord Downey offered, sympathetically.

"And there can be a few thousand thieves keeping an eye out, too." added Mr Boggis. "After all, it might have been my girl Steffi who got killed. Or Lord Downey's woman. That makes it _personal._ We all saw that rope after the show. It was hanging on by a thread!"

"I concur." agreed Downey. "My ladies only participated in this event at my express request. To have had one killed would have been a stain on my Assassin's honour. And I would like to send out a _very _clear message to anyone contemplating wantonly killing an Assassin outside of legitimate self-defence."

Whiteface nodded. He was making the very best face of the split in his Guild that was being played out in front of his peers and professional rivals. Even though he knew Boggis and Downey were genuine in their sympathy, it still stung that what looked like a schism in the Fools' Guild was happening so publicly. And in front of the Press, too. He'd promised deWorde and that damn girl a statement later, to fend them off now, but they were still hovering, interestedly.

"Thank you, Mr Boggis. But for now, Commander Vimes might be pleased if we left it to the Watch. If their search _fails_, however…" he left the sentence unfinished. "I may have to speak to you privately, Donald. Concerning a contract."

Lord Downey nodded.

"I have four of my best and most tenacious Assassins here in this room, Doctor. Any of them might have been targeted, and they perceive a threat to any one as meriting the vengeance of all. As the Concordat dictates."

The Chamber of Mirth had been opened for an official reception for the performers. Catering at the Fools' Guild being Spartan in every sense**(1)**, the Clowns had called in outside caterers. And although they had done their best, the nerve-centre of the Guild was at best a place where a party of any kind resembled a Hogswatch buffet put on by the most grim and unyielding of offices as a grudging thank-you to its staff. .Even with the best of intentions, you didn't want to stay for very long.

.

Alice and Johanna had begged leave to return to the Guild and change into day clothes. Downey and Whiteface had briefly conferred, and led them to an ante-room just behind the Chamber of Mirth. A clown, one of the Pals, was on guard, but stood back respectfully. Cautioning them to be extremely discreet about what they were about to see, and not to mention it to anybody, Whiteface went to what looked like a random anonymous point on the wall, and pressed. A distant buzzer sounded.

"Yes?" said a disembodied voice.

"Authority, Whiteface. Codeword: _Jeremiah._ Two to cross."

"Acknowledged."

Johanna and Alice looked at each other as a door-shaped section of the wall unlocked and swung open. A black-clad Assassin relaxed his pose, seeing what he expected to see. Behind him was a familiar looking-and-feeling Assassins' Guild office room.

"Please allow Miss Band and Miss Smith-Rhodes to pass, Mr Rustleton." Downey requested. "When they've done what they need to, I am authorising them to return to the Fools' Guild by the same direct route. Thank you!"

Johanna and Alice looked at each other, now reminded that the two Guilds shared a common wall. A secret door between the two Guilds made sense, especially when Johanna realised they had emerged in a discreetly guarded sub-office adjacent to the Guild Master's study. And after the business with Doctor Cruces and Edward De'Ath, it made sense the hidden passage was kept both secret and guarded on both sides. Alice suspected it was used for discreet and deniable discussions between the Dark Council and the Council of Mirth.

"Very useful!" said Johanna, thoughtfully.

"Then again, you'd _expect_ it." said Alice. She wrapped her overcoat more tightly around her as two Assassins passed them in the corridor.

"Privy first." she decided. " _Then_ I arm up. Especially if there's a renegade clown out there who might want to take one of us with him! I don't know about you, Johanna, but I feel _naked_ without any personal weapons! Privy, weapons, then normal day clothes. In strictly that order."

Half an hour or so later, two appropriately dressed lady Assassins returned to the party by the same route, and were warmly welcomed.

"Come and tell me all about that lion-taming act!" Lady Sybil Ramkin urged, taking Johanna by the arm. "Absolutely _wonderful_, my dear! I wouldn't want to try it with swamp dragons, the little blighters would explode and take your arm off if you crack a whip near them, but I can see how it works with lions. If I were younger, and I didn't have Young Sam to care for, I might want a crack at it myself! "

Johanna looked around. Yes, Mr Boggis had gone all distant and rather glassy-eyed, as if contemplating Lady Sybil Ramkin in a leotard and fishnet tights. And he didn't seem to be the only one: an image of _whale-nets _**(2)** crossed Johanna's mind for an instant, then she impatiently cast it out and felt slightly ashamed - Sybil was a big, friendly, generous woman without a bitchy bone in her body. Thoughts like that were just _mean_.

"I know Sam's funny about Assassins, but you're a Watch Special, for goodness sake, so it's about time you came back to the Manor to see the dragons and have a bite of lunch!"

The various performers circulated, talking and mingling with the dignitaries.

"You were _superb_, my dears!" Lady T'Malia said, hugging Alice and Dolores warmly. "I have to say, if I were for – _thirty - _years younger, I'd have wanted to be in that ring with you all, as it looked like jolly good fun! Isn't that right, Bobbi?"

"Oh, _absolutely_!" agreed her friend, Lady de Meserole. "I completely enjoyed myself! Havelock took a little persuading, but I believe in the end he was rewarded for escorting his frail old aunt on a day out to the matinée at the Circus!"

She lowered her voice, and drew Alice, Dolores and Joan closer.

"Thank you for what you did. To be honest, this Guild was getting to be something of an _embarrassment_ in the modern day and age. I believe even Doctor Whiteface is honest and perceptive enough to agree with that, and resolute enough to embrace change."

"But there's still a lot of work to do yet." said T'Malia. "Political history teaches us that a revolution is at its most vulnerable in its early stages. It may have opened peoples' eyes to alternatives and giddying new possibilities, but these are new and fragile and have not had time to put out roots. The most many revolutions achieve is to alarm the ruling establishment into concentrating its forces, and bringing an annihilating amount of counter-revolutionary power to bear. Followed by repression and reeinforcement of the worst of the old ways."

She sighed.

"And this Guild has a lot of counter-revolutionary force that can strike back at new and innovative movements! We must at all costs avoid that."

"What if Japester escapes to one of the other Clowning centres, and it declares itself to be the one true centre of clowning? He's got his base then to fight back, _especially_ if he is declared the Whiteface in exile." Alice said, thoughtfully.

"Arrest warrants have gone out." Bobbi de Mererole said. "Both internal Guild ones, and Watch warrants signed by Vetinari, so as to support any extradition request. At Doctor Whiteface's request, the Guild – we Assassins, that is – is holding back on issuing an inhumation contract, although what may have been an attempt on _your_ life is provocation enough, Alice."

_What's interesting here? _Alice wondered._ Answer: Lady de Meserole has just identified herself as a Guild member. She said __**our**__ Guild, __**we **__Assassins. "Frail old aunt" my foot! I wonder when she qualified and if she had to do the Run? What's her proficiency? That is, apart from being able to inhume established political systems?_

"The Thieves are discreetly looking for him. As the delightful Mr Boggis pointed out, it might have been _his_ School's edificeering teacher who died on that broken rope. So he has a grievance too and he's using his assets constructively. The Watch are actively stopping Clowns leaving the City, although they haven't found him yet. Arch-Chancellor Ridcully and Professor Stibbons have been prevailed upon to do a little scrying and far-seeing. They're in a quiet room somewhere doing their magic and no doubt we'll hear from them soon." concluded Lady Bobbi.

"So catching the fugitive, before he gets to a place where he can claim sanctuary, is just a matter of time." said T'Malia.

"We hope!" Bobbi added drily.

"And if we don't, madam?" Alice asked.

"If he makes it to La Sorbumme or Müning, we have to see he does not establish a power base." aid Lord Vetinari, coming up behind Alice. "If he settles in one of the strongholds of clowning, we devote our energies to isolating him from the other two. We also seek to destabilise him in the third. I have asked Lord Downey to refrain for the moment from sending a man – or perhaps a woman – after him. That way we succeed only in giving the dissident clowns a martyr to rally round, which is somewhat more enduring than a living figurehead, who can be discredited. Or he might disillusion his supporters. With luck, we may achieve both."

His aunt clapped her hands.

"Excellent, Havelock. We taught you well!"

"I know which way I wish this Guild to choose, of its own free will, to go. It is most assuredly _not_ in a direction that thrusts the mantle of Doctor Whiteface upon Brother Japester."

Riscully and Stibbons returned to the room. Ridcully made straight for the buffet, Ponder Stibbons exchanged a long meaningful look with Johanna.

"Ah, gentlemen! Any results?" asked Vetinari.

"We believe he's gone to ground, sir. He's still in the city, waiting for a chance to escape when the pursuit dies down.. I'm getting strong associations with Quarry Street and Clay Lane." said Stibbons.

"Near the cattlemarkets." Ridcully said, indistinctly. "And there's at least one way into the Undercity from there. Damn' main sewer runs right underneath, for one thing.. If he went down there, especially at this time of year when the river's low, damn' man could pop up anywhere!"

"Well done" Vetinari said. "You may enjoy the buffet now, gentlemen!"

"If it's all the same to you, sir…" Ponder and Johanna found each other and clasped hands.

"Doll, you were _sensational_!" he said. She embraced him happily. Some things were worth living for.

"I elweys em!" she replied, modestly. Then they kissed, a lioness marking her territory and putting up "do not touch!" signs.

And then they were stepping up for handshakes with the Patrician and Doctor Whiteface, and being issued their Fools' Guild membership badges. In deference to their being honorary members, they were spared custard down the skirt or joke handshakes that delivered a lightning-lemon shock.**(3)** Lord Vetinari made a few genial remarks about appreciating more and more why the Boggis-Downey Cup for edificeering was such a tight competition every year. If women of the calibre an ability of Miss Gibbett and Miss Band were teaching climbing at the Thieves and Assassins' schools, any competition between their pupils _had_ to be special.

Lord Downey smiled a contented smile.

"Do you think you'll perform in public again?" he asked his ladies.

"Once is enough" Alice murmured. _On the other hand, Alice… you really want to fly like a condor again, don't you? And you like Dolores. A lot. You never really worked out if she was straight or gay. It'll be fun to find out, either way._

Downey made a non-committal noise.

"Only I was thinking of re-instating the Hogswatch Revue this next term. You know, staff and students get up and perform their respective party tricks for entertainment just before the holiday. Your rope tricks, Miss Butterfly's gymnastics, and Miss Sanderson- Reeves' fire-eating. Think about it, Alice. No rush!"

"And not Miss Smith-Rhodes' lion taming?"

"Alas, the Guild main hall is too small a stage for such bravura." he sighed. "If she can develop an alternative act, nobody would be more pleased than me."

"She was looking speculatively at the elephants in the Zoo the other day You know both females are pregnant and will have…damn, what's the word - cubs? Elephant kittens? Young? Soon?" Alice murmured, and had the pleasure of seeing Downey blanch slightly. She thought of Johanna bringing an orphaned baby elephant back to the Guild, and grinned quietly to herself.

* * *

**(1) - Spartan food: **not much of it, repetitive, not especially well cooked and in all applicable ways leaving you hungry for more. The classical Spartans in Roundworld''s Ancient Greece considered a revolting dish of porridge oats cooked in blood (like the innards of a black pudding but not as tasty) was a sufficiency for building good bones and healthy bodies. Clowns' Guild cooking is worse.

**(2) - whalenet stockings: **like fishnets, but designed to hold far bigger marine life.

**(3)- joke handshakes that delivered a lightning-lemon shock:- **It had come as a really big shock to the ladies of the Thieves and Assassins' Guilds to realise just how advanced Clown technology was, in certain specialised areas. Thinking back on it afterwards, Alice Band and Steffi Gibbet agreed that it had been such a shock to them because hitherto, clowns and fools had been so despised by other Guilds that nobody had bothered looking all that closely at some of the kit they'd evolved to enhance their stage performances. Thus, they had far better, lighter, stronger, smoother, rope than anything at the disposal of Assassins or Thieves; special effects onstage called for advanced alchemy that even came as a surprise to Mr Mericet, when Joan Sanderson-Reeves reported back on some of the interesting kit she'd been allowed to see and work with; and they'd even invented a portable electric battery, at great cost in research-clown hours, just to power a single sight-gag where the proferred handshake delivers an electric shock. And because nobody had eveer bothered to ask or look closely, and because a hermetically sealed Guild lost in its own arcane business hadn't realised their stuff was anything special or extraordinary, this had remained largely unknown for a good couple of hundred years. Which only goes to show...


	10. The day after

_**The serious business of foolery….10**_

Continuing the story….

_**Kids! Always seek to be nice to your schoolteachers and at least try to treat them with respect. **_

_**If only because they're older than you, far nastier than you, study advanced classes in sarcasm and evil comebacks, and in some cases are far better armed than you. **_

* * *

By general consent, the new school term didn't officially begin till September. But even in August, the Assassins' and Thieves' Guild schools were still busy.

There were summer classes and schools, for instance, in subjects thought of as being interesting and having worth, but which simply could not be fitted into an already over-full curriculum.

There were the inevitable remedial and resit classes, for slow learners and those being given a second chance to resit a failed end-of-term exam.

In the case of the Assassins' School, there were those students who came from so far overseas that it wasn't really worth their while going home, even for the six-week summer break. This covered, as a rule, the former Ankh-Morporkian colonies of Fourecks, the Foggy Islands, and Rimwards Howondaland. (it took four and a half weeks sailing just to get to Rimwards Howondaland, and the same back again. And Fourecks was further away still.) A fourth, related, category covered those whose parents worked away in occupations where a family could not follow, such as the military or the Diplomatic Service. And the fifth and saddest category was those who, while at the school, learnt of the death of one or both parents.**(1)**

School policy was to act _in loco parentis_ for these summer and holiday boarders (for an additional fee, negotiable according to circumstances, or prearranged on first admission, for instance with Howondalandian parents who knew in advance they were not going to see their child again for up to seven years – in this case the summer supplement was built in.)

It was always ideal if an aunt and uncle, or family friend, could take the pupil in at their home for the summer. But the Guild accepted that there would always be a residue of pupils who would be living in over the holidays. Being a caring organisation, it attempted to make things bearable by offering those pupils a chance to benefit from additional or supplementary tuition, or providing other avenues to keep them occupied and productive. The various Embassies and High Commissions, recognising a problem where they could assist, were also helpful in looking after the stranded pupils during the hols. The Fourecksian High Commission, for instance, did what it could in matching its pupils up with locally based Fourecksian families who were prepared to act as foster-parents for a few weeks.

And this explained why, the day after the circus, Johanna Smith-Rhodes found herself in a classroom in the early morning just after breakfast, at the Guild with a dozen or so pupils of all ages and both sexes from her native Rimwards Howondaland. Acting as a sympathetic ear to homesick or disaffected pupils from Home was a recognised part of her job: it was understood that a teacher of the appropriate nationality was best for anchoring a worried or unsettled overseas pupil.

"Right! Settle down!" she announced. "You all know why you're here. If you were at school at Home, you would need to do these lessons in citizenship, civics, and national heritage as a compulsory part of the syllabus."

She paused, and added

"These are mandatory parts of the national school curriculum at home, and the Government insists that pupils educated overseas should not be exempt. The Guild School has very kindly made classroom space available for you to study and learn these things, so that you will not be disadvantaged when you return Home.

"I have been entrusted by the Bureau of Education to teach you these things, and I will tell you that there will be _no_ deviation from the official syllabus. Especially when we come to policies such as _apartheid_, I will be telling you the official reasons for its existence and why it is a right and proper policy for our nation at this stage in its development. You will then know what you are expected to believe, and you will be aware of the correct things to say and do, especially in public and in the presence of people you do not personally know, who may be listening to you. In short, I will be instructing you into how to blend in as good white citizens, whose thoughts have been appropriately guided and steered."

_Are they getting the subtext and the very careful sarcasm? _she wondered. _I hope some of them notice that sometimes I do not personally practice what I am forced to preach. And draw the correct conclusion. I'm fairly sure none of them have talked to BOSS about me, but I do not know that for sure. You have to be so careful! This is a lion I do not want to put my head in the jaws of. _

"There _will_ be an exam, a short one, and it will be administered at the Embassy, where I expect best behaviour! For those few of you in this room who are _Kaarpies_**(2)**_, _I'm very sorry, but these lessons will be delivered in the Vondalaans language as most of us here speak it as our mother tongue, and anyway it is the official language of our nation!"

"If the blecks can learn how to speak Vondalaans, miss, so can Kaarpies!"

"Indeed." Johanna said, marking young Michel Malan down as a candidate for subtle re-education. "I stress there is nothing wrong with Kaarpies, I'm part Kaarpie myself, else I would not carry the name Smith-Rhodes. But the biggest part of me is _Boor,_ and she speaks Vondalaans! Now let us begin. Our nation was first established five hundred years ago when…"

* * *

Meanwhile, in the staffroom at the Thieves' Guild School on Lower Broadway, Betty Richardson drew her long coat around her, attracting curious looks from other staff members. She'd seen the Times that morning – the photos were as revealing as she'd feared – and had a tactic in place to deal with the fourth year remedial class she was taking that morning.

"I do _not_ envy _you_ this morning." said Law teacher Jack diMarcchio. Law was a popular class among student Thieves: it covered areas such as Prove It, Copper; Good and Bad Alibis; What To Say And What Not To Say to the Watch; How To Get A Good Bent Brief (Jack was also a member of the Guild of Lawyers) and How To Present Youself In Court.

Betty smiled.

"I've been teaching them for long enough to know what to expect, Jack. I've got something planned to defuse anything they might throw at me!"

Steffi Gibbett breezed in with a copy of the Times under her arm. She was dressed for edificeering, in loose top and trousers, and as a younger and more popular member of teaching staff, was there to take the School edificeering team through its paces in preparation for the Boggis-Downey Cup. It was a mark of her popularity that the whole team turned up for regular training sessions even during the holidays. This gave her an advantage over Alice Band, the greater part of whose team were away at home during the long hols.

The Thieves' Guild School was almost entirely a day school: the handful of boarders, from other countries and cities, were lodged around town in Guild-approved digs. Steffi's climbers only needed cross the city. Alice's were currently scattered all over the Central Continent. This disrupted Assassin squad training and was perhaps part of the reason why the Thieves had won the annual challenge cup four times out of six. **(3)**

"I just heard Mr Boggis isn't coming in today" she said, a wicked little grin forming at the corners of her mouth.

"Would you let me guess!" explained Sister Brigid**(4)**, a nun who had spent a profitable life diverting Church funds into several non-traceable bank accounts. In recognition of her talents as an embezzler, the Guild school had asked her to be its Chaplain.

"Mrs Boggis saw the pictures in the newspaper this morning…"

Steffi opened the paper to Page Three. There was a full-length photo of Alice Band and herself in leotards and full glam. Next to it, the compositor had carefully angled a photo of Mr Boggis looking through his opera glasses, so that he appeared to be fixated on Alice's breasts.**(5)**

"Mr Boggis is indisposed." Steffi said, looking innocent and earnest. "But according to their housemaid, he was taken to the Lady Sybil, wearing his wife's cornflakes bowl in place of his bowler. Apparently, the cruet set is posing an even greater problem for Doctor Lawn."

"Ouch!" said Jack and Betty and Brigid together.

The ladies' circus and its associated stories had made pages one to seven inclusive plus the editorial and an opinion column.

It was also noted in passing that Brother Japester, once tipped as a likely successor to Doctor Whiteface, had disappeared without trace and was thought to have gone into hiding in the City waiting for the hunt to die down. The Watch remained on alert, and given the nature of the alleged offence which had offended Thieves and Assassins alike, he has also incurred the wrath of two of the biggest and most powerful Guilds in the city.

_**On other pages! **_

_Our investigative reporter Sacharissa Cripslock took advantage of her day at the circus yesterday to see for herself the shocking conditions in which boys as young as seven are expected to live while studying at the Fools' Guild and College of Clowns. She clandestinely interviewed several about the chilling conditions in which they live and are educated. How long can this mediaeval disgrace persist in the modern world? Would you entrust a son – and very soon a daughter – this level of "care"? Is the Patrician acting to remedy the worst abuses? Full story with pictures on pp 6-7. _

Betty took a look at the picture of herself as Ringmistress – full-length and every bit as bad as she feared (although she had to admit that for nearly forty, she'd kept her shape in clothing that hid nothing.)

Then she went to take her lesson, in Remedial Economics for Thieves. (What's it worth? What might it be worth if I sat on it for a while? What are the best things to nick in the first place and how do I calculate that? If I nick it in Quirm and sell it in Brindisi will I be better off, allowing for exchanging the cash from lira back into dollars?)

The fourth year pupils were fifteen, unruly, and hard to handle.

She walked into the class.

Yes, how predictable: the pictures of herself in a leotard were everywhere. Somebody had even been to the trouble and expense of going to the Times' office and buying a blown-up copy, re-iconographed to life size, "as a present to Miss just to remind her".

"Alright! Settle down!" she shouted, as she walked in to a tirade of wolf-whistles and grinning adolescent mainly male faces.

"Today. We will study. The supply and demand curves and their implication for the practice of thiefcraft!"

She chalked busily on the board. Then she turned, smiled at the class, and said

"I nearly forgot. I'd better take my coat off, hadn't I?"

She knew that with Boggis away she'd get away with this. Her heels clicked as she walked across the room in a sudden stunned silence to hang her coat up.

For she was wearing the leotard, tights, and boots she had worn the previous day as Ringmistress. She was also carrying a whip which Johanna Smith-Rhodes had loaned her for the occasion. And had, at odd moments in the last six months, taught her how to use.

She turned and regarded a class full of wide eyes and dropping jaws. A _silent_ class.

She nodded, and chalked up a classic curving graph on the blackboard.

"The law of supply and demand. Dictates what? _Miss Mackeson_!"

A mean trick. But she knew from experience with male pupils, and from her own awareness she could still cut the mustard with a figure honed by regular edificeering, Escape and Evasion, and Running Away From The Watch, that any male pupil required to stand up and answer her question ran the risk of tipping the desk over. Getting one of the girls in the class to stand up and answer first was an explicit warning.

"That as…. Supply fails, demand remains the same or actually increases"

"And the implication?"

"Errr… as goods grow scarcer due to failing supply, the price of those goods still in circulation rises."

"Good! Well done. Sit down. And for the corollary…."

Her eyes swept the class. Twenty boys squirming at their desks with erections they were trying to hide all tried not to catch her eye, praying it wouldn't be them.

_Good, _she thought. _They're feeling the embarrassment, not me. I'll stay with the girls for a while, and in maybe half an hour it'll have worn off for some of them._

She remembered a late-night conversation she and Steffi had had with Alice Band, and Emmanuelle les Deux-Épées, another female teacher at the Assassins' School. They'd exchanged their thoughts about how it felt to be a sex object for adolescent boys.

"_Ma Foi!" _Emmanuelle had said. "The kind way is to pretend to be unaware it happens, but to privately take it as a compliment. Boys will be boys, after all, and a boy of fourteen who does _not _relieve his physical need is an un-natural boy. If he thinks of me while he is doing it, it is a compliment!"

Alice had agreed, relating what the Guild laundress had said to her about "it's true young boys are the focus for poltergeist activity, as the wizards say, miss. There's always a lot of bumping in the night, by all accounts, and lots of ectoplasm on their bedsheets the next morning!"

They had all laughed, and Emmanuelle had wistfully added:

"But some of the boys of seventeen and eighteen. Ah, they tempt me, my fingers itch, but the rules of this game say I cannot touch them. Alice also feels this way about seventeen and eighteen year old pupils, I think!"

Keeping an absolutely straight face, Alice had agreed, privately noting that her friend had not specified _gender_ of pupil.

Betty had gone away feeling relieved that other women teachers had hit the same extra-curricular stumbling blocks, and she and Steffi had been quietly pleased.

And now it was paying off…

"_And if goods are over-supplied to the markets, the unit price drops! _she said, cracking the whip for emphasis, understanding why Johanna found it an indispensable classroom tool, and wondering if she was giving any of her pupils either a phobia or a sexual fetish for life.

_Well, in this particular classroom battle, they started it…_

"Now. We will move onto the _other_ set of laws of supply and demand!" she said.

_Good. This has stumped them. _

"There is a class of trade commodities called Giffen Goods." She chalked it on the board, feeling twenty pairs of eyes on her bottom. She felt oddly bucked up by the attention.

"What is so important about Giffen Goods? What distinguishes them from other commodities? We're looking for exceptions to the normal rule of supply and demand, remember."

"Er….." it was Darren Snape, the first male pupil to risk putting his hand up. She nodded.

"No need to stand up, by the way." she said, kindly.

"Thanks, miss… er, gold, precious metals, jewels like diamonds?"

"Good. Explain why and what happens".

"er… in normal circumstances, the price of gold bullion remains pretty constant regardless of how much there is in the market. But in circumstances that _aren't_ normal, like a war or a famine…"

Betty nodded at him, encouragingly.

"That's when the price rises, miss. Everyone wants some."

"Excellent! In normal circumstances, the supply and demand law does not apply to gold because only a very few people can afford to buy it as individuals. Therefore there is almost always more supply than demand, but because gold is perceived as having intrinsic value independent of other factors, it holds its price. It is subject to a higher order law of economics. Other examples of Giffen Goods? Anyone? Henderson?"

She lifted her leg and planted her booted foot down on a nearby chair. Twenty boys gulped and ten girls tried not to giggle at the boys' discomfort.

And so the lesson passed. As the bell rang at the end, Betty said

"And this is the one and only time you will _ever_ see me in a classroom dressed like this. I hope we've _all_ got it out of our systems by now and we can revert to a normal teacher-pupil interaction, where, by the way, I _will_ be dressed more conventionally. That is all. Thank you for your contributions, see you tomorrow!"

Several of the boys grinned sheepishly on the way out, holding books or bags coyly in front of them. Most of the girls were grinning openly and several said

"Cool, miss!"

"You're great, miss!"

and similar variations on a theme on the way out.

Betty felt good: another classroom victory won. She felt good. And maybe a bit of economic theory had slipped in while they were distracted.

* * *

There was a room in the Undercity, several floors beneath a house owned by a sympathetic and old-time retired Clown. The walls dripped with condensation and it was cold and damp: but Brother Japester felt it was no worse and in some cases better than some of the rooms he'd lived in at the Guild as he climbed the ladder.

He sat, read the Times that his saviour had sent down to him, and seethed inwardly.

_How dare Whiteface sully the office and do that to his Guild! _

When the news got to conservative Müning, there would be argument and indignation there and disbelief that the parent Guild would dare do such a thing. He would let it ferment for a few days, then come bearing news from the City , of his exile, his martyrdom under false charges, demanding the forces of true Clowndom rise up and regain control before these foul experiments took root…

He smiled.

And prepared, in his mind, for civil war.

* * *

**(1**) These sad circumstances required careful and delicate handling, for as often as not, the actions of a Guild graduate might have actually precipitated the bereavement. A rich or prudent parent might have paid several years school fees up front. A trust fund or a rich relative might take over the fees. In the case of a gifted student, the Guild might even continue their education for free.

**(2) A Kaarpie – **a slightly derogatory shorthand for a Rimwards Howondalandian of Morporkian ancestry who prefers to speak Morporkian. On Roundworld it would be a _Kaapie_ – an English-speaking South African.

**(3) **In British educational terms, the Thieves' Guild School could be likened to the underfunded rather shabby secondary modern, a spit and a stones' throw away from the classy fee-paying Assassin's Guild school.

**(4) **Her personal text for reverend contemplation was _**"Gods help those who help themselves"**_

**(5) **In accordance with laws of universal resonance, the picture of Alice and Steffi could go nowhere else but page three. It was accompanied by a caption that read "Phwoor, boys! Wouldn't you like to be inhumed by an assassin dressed in _this_ sort of black? Gorgeous killer Miss Alice Band (late twenties?) knocks 'em dead as she trials a new uniform style for the Guild of Assassins that we hope will catch on! And not far behind, Thieves' Guild lovely Stephanie Gibbett (21) provides the sort of distraction you or I wouldn't mind seeing while somebody else sneaks up behind and picks our pocket…" meanwhile "Stephanie's boss, Mr Boggis, steals a long close-up look at these lovelies, and who apart possibly from Mrs Boggis can blame him?" "


	11. A War in Clowndom: Prologue

_**A War In Clowndom….**_

_**Continuing an older tale in which one of the nastiest, grimmest and most brutally pitiless civil wars known to the Disc begins.**_

Brother Japester looked at himself in the mirror. He had just broken one of the most fundamental laws in Clowndom. This was on top of his having already broken several other fundamental Guild laws, forcing him to have left Ankh-Morpork and the Guild in a hurry.

He had challenged Doctor Whiteface for the Guild leadership. Admittedly he had lost, but that was a battle lost, not the war. The war would continue. He had openly defied Guild rules and new policies and stood against them. In a Guild where the hierarchy was all-important and conformity to arcane rules was enforced, that had been serious.

_But the Guild leadership had been wrong! It had been contaminated! Modernity had been allowed to set in! Time-honoured principles and self-evident truths had been wantonly ignored and abandoned. Radical change had been imposed. Overnight, without the usual period of reflection! It took a decently long period of at least fifty years to ponder and reflect and assess any sort of change, everyone with the best interests of Clowndom at heart knew that!_

And he was viscerally opposed to new ideas. Such as the utter heresy that openly voiced the lie and the abomination that _women_ could be Guild members in their own right! Everyone knew they had no sense of humour. That they would be a corrupting influence. That good Clowns would be so distracted at their mere presence that they would not learn the glorious and almost holy Craft!

Women! Allowed to sully the hallowed halls and most sacred place of Clowndom! That group of harlots Whiteface had allowed to perform _innovative_ circus performances, no doubt at Vetinari's bidding! _New, innovative, novel._

He spat the words out. To an old-time conservative Clown, they were heresies.

No, he had been forced to intervene. Clearly Whiteface had gone insane. He _must_ be challenged. For the good of the Guild. And Vetinari, the great reforming Patrician, also had to learn that his interference and manipulation of internal Guild policy was a reform too far. He and that interfering old harlot of an Aunt.

Japester paused and took his thinking to the next stage.

Traditionally, Ruling Patricians arose from the Guilds. Guild leaders and highly placed members became Patricians, if they were cunning and ruthless enough. He could give it serious thought after he wrested control of the Guild from the flawed Whiteface, and re-imposed traditional ways of thought. The rot must be stopped. The corruption in the Guild had been allowed to seep in from the City. Therefore the City also needed reform and cleansing. He would deliver it.

_And he had come so close. So, so ,very, close! It was regrettable indeed that one of those harlots had to die. But women! And women from outside! Who thought they could be Clowns and circus performers! And who had been honoured with Guild membership, sullying everything he stood for and believed in! _

Vetinari had wanted a demonstration, in front of all Guild members and students, that women could hold their own in the performing arts. Japester had reasoned that Vetinari would get his Demonstration. He, Japester, would demonstrate that the whole dangerous notion was flawed, if one of those women died in front of the circus, where everyone could see. This would weaken Whiteface were his notion to be conclusively proven in public. It would also weaken Vetinari if one of the damn- fool females died in public. Their own guild leaders would also be embarrassed and back off from support. So he had got a loyal underling to cut the rope. But the idiot had been too blatant and obvious. And the day had become one of triumph for the forces of modernism and he, Japester, had been forced to run. For now.

There was a knock on the door.

_Funf minuten, Herr Doktor._

"_Verstehen." _Japester acknowledged.

No. It was not rebellion. This was _duty_. To restore his beloved Guild to its true path. He would soon address the Müning clowns and Guild members. Announce himself as the true Whiteface. Incite them to join the movement for counter-reform. The girl students had already been expelled from the Müning school, anyway. He did not know or care where they had gone. Most probably into education more suited to the nature of females, anyway. To clean and cook and keep house and raise children, as the Gods intended.

An Überwaldean by birth, Japester was Home. He had successfully left Ankh-Morpork, necessarily skulking out. He would return in glory. Whatever Vetinari had to say.

"Mein Ehre ist Treue." he said, rehearsing part of his speech. **(1)**

He took another look in the mirror. He had deliberately broken another fundamental law of Clowning., Oh, he had had it discreetly checked first, that no other Clown used this Face. He was a traditionalist, after all.

But to symbolise the old order was being challenged, albeit for the best of reasons, he had taken a drastic step.

His old auguste makeup had gone. The face of Brother Jester was no more. A transformed Face scowled at him from the mirror.

His hair was a dyed black widow's peak. No wig. Natural hair, but trained into an un-natural style, a vampire-like widow's peak rising to two horn-like points. His face was Whiteface-pure white. A challenge in itself. The eyes goth-black, the lips thin and red drawn into an exaggerated mouth. For this performance, he had added a large question mark on each cheek, to symbolically ask the question - which way do you wish the Guild to go? He would symbolically wipe them off at the end of the speech, to symbolise decision and certainty. Clowns liked this sort of theatre.

He wore a purple-blue suit with slightly exaggerated lapels and shoulders. He had thought about green, to represent the riddle of new growth and fresh new life. But purple symbolised right to lead and rule. That was fitting.

He nodded.

Brother Japester had gone.

Brother Joker had arisen. And would soon be Whiteface. And after that, Patrician? Time would tell.

He rose. And prepared to rally his following.

* * *

**(1) **An old Nazi German slogan: _My Honour is My Loyalty_


	12. out of Uberwald

_**A War In Clowndom….**_

_**Continuing an older tale in which one of the nastiest, grimmest and most brutally pitiless civil wars known to the Disc begins.**_

The late-October gloom settled on Ankh-Morpork. Sam Vimes turned back from his office window, overlooking Pseudopolis Yard, and shook his head.

"You know, Carrot, when the city starts to look grey and old like this, I remember, years ago, how it used to be a dark, grim, sort of place where crime was out of control and the criminals ruled the place." he said, conversationally. "So no change there. Except we've got a halfway honest Patrician these days, compared to some of the real loonies we used to have. It's still half-insane, though, like that place in the old story. Gougham, or wherever.**(1)** Any advance on the Japester thing?"

"Complete blank, sir." Carrot replied.

"It's been two months now." Vimes mused. "You'd think he'd have made his move by now. Is it possible the Assassins got him, do you think, on the quiet?"

Carrot shook his head.

"They're never that quiet, sir. They announce the contract's been completed at Morning Assembly, in front of the whole school, and ring their Inhumation Bell. And these days they publish a Weekly Gazette in the Society pages of the Times. _Who's No Longer Who. _That zombie who does the obituaries also takes care to publish. Besides, Miss Smith-Rhodes tells me the Guild has still refrained from anything active, although they have had people watching."

"We did book that Clown leaving the City, the one with the letter advising the Quirm branch that Japester could be expected there." Vimes said, but with a doubtful note in his voice.

"Misdirection, sir? Although we informed the local Gendarmerie and asked if they could prepare a cell in the Bastille, you _did _wonder if it was misdirection, if we were _meant _to intercept that letter, and he was _really_ on his way out to Müning." said Carrot.

Vimes grunted.

"But we monitored all the roads out to Müning and alerted the Polizei. Herr General der Polizei Xavier March put his men on watch. Nothing."

* * *

Alice Band awoke in a very happy place. Specifically, it was the bed belonging to circus performer Dolores de Gutierrez. Dolores was also in it. Which made Alice very contented indeed.

* * *

_A week or two earlier: _

Erika Morgendorffer paused on the lonely road headed hubwards-by-widdershins. She knew _where_ she was going. The rats had told her. But she just hadn't grasped, in her rage and sense of humiliation, how _far_ it was. She knew what she had to do when she got to faraway Ankh-Morpork. She just wasn't sure anybody would listen to her grievance. It looked like rain was coming. So was night. And she needed somewhere to sleep.

* * *

In the canteen at the Yard, Sergeant Fred Colon and Corporal Nobby Nobbs were relaxing over a brew. Wee Mad Arthur, gnome-turned-orphaned Feegle and one of the smaller Watch members, had joined them and was sipping from a dolls' house sized tea mug. In fact, it had started out as doll's house furniture: the Watch had bought several sets to cater for the beverage requirements of its non-standard-sized officers.

"I can't see it, Nobby." Fred said, shaking his head. "Strange things come out of Überwald, right enough, but we'd have _heard _by now if there was a town where rats and humans got on together and treated each other as equals. Mind you, given how people in remote country towns are, the rats is probably brighter than the humans. Won't take much."

" I see what you mean, Fred." Nobby said, doubtfully. "But I'd swear that bloody rat was looking _human_ at me. And I'd heard the rumour, and this sort of thing makes you wonder."

"You was on the Thaumatological Park, Nobby." Colon said, authoritatively. "The place they built on the old Unreal Estate, where the University dumped all its rubbish. You sees and hears things in that place. And besides, if there _was_ talkin' rats that think like humans, they'd be working for Vetinari. He'd not pass them over, not his Lordship."

"Aye, weel." Wee Mad Arthur said. "How do ye ken he _doesnae_? Now see me, youse two bigjobs. Ah wiz a ratcatcher before I joined the Watch. Granted, ah wiznae ever a Guild member. But ye talks to the more decent people in the Guild. You trades information. You pass on stories, ye ken? And ah heard from a fella who'd heard it frae a fella…."

"Who he met in a pub?" Nobby inquired. The gnome glared up at him.

"Which he may weel have done. The Rat-Catchers' Guild, see yiz, has heard stories aboot a wee place in Öberwald where ye get rats that are muir intelligent than the bigjobs. Who can speak Bigjob. They say this wee town's closed tae the Guild. Bit of bad business there where the rat catchers got greedy, ye ken? Anyway, the rats there persuaded the bigjobs tae try it a different way."

Arthur took a sip of his tea.

"Bluidy maiden's water, this. As a rat catcher masaelf, I sincerely hope it doesnae catch on. Or we're oot of a job. But they exist, a'right!" **(2)**

A nervous young constable entered the room.

"Sergeant Colon? You're wanted, Sarge. Senior Officers' Briefing."

Colon grimaced.

"Best see what Mr Vimes wants, I suppose."

* * *

"¡ Buenas dias, queridas!" Dolores said, trickling back into wakingness.

"¡ Y tu tambien, trapezadora!" Alice Band replied, thinking for an instant…. _¿Queridas? Plural? _

There was a stirring in the bed. Alice felt a delicious movement she could not put down to any part of Dolores. And then Steffi Gibbet's tousled head popped up.

"Hi, Alice! Dolores!" she said, emerging from the bedsheets.

Two free arms reached for her. Alice exhaled.

"_Just what the Hells were we drinking last night?" _she wondered. But she still reached for both women. **(3)**

* * *

Erika Morgendorrfer approached the door of the inn. She'd heard that they were meant to be welcoming places to travellers, weren't they? Somewhere to obtain respite from the elements and rest for the night. She wasn't sure how far her meagre store of _schillings_ and _pfennigs_ were going to take her. But she could at least ask. And just maybe…

A little voice in the back of her head was insisting that maybe this wasn't a good idea. That running away from home out of anger and humiliation and a sense of bitter injustice had perhaps been the wrong thing to do. _It's not too late to go back…. _but she went in anyway.

The room was large, but conspired to be shut in, dark, and gloomy at the same time. Only a few people were in the large main room. A rat-like little woman was behind the bar. Erika quite liked rats. It was forced on you, if you came from Bad Blintz. Her interpretation of the words "rat-like" would have been complimentary. It would have taken in admirable concepts like intelligence, adaptability, practical competence, reasoning ability, shrewdness, optimism and mutual supportiveness. But she was also aware of an older and darker sense to the words, from before the Pact. And this woman appeared to embody the _other_ meaning of the phrase "rat-like."

Her husband also had the same look of pinched, envious, deviousness. Erika steeled herself.

"I need somewhere to sleep tonight." she aid, trying not to sound hesitant. And a meal. What does it normally cost?"

The two looked her over. She didn't like the way they looked, as if they were trying to calculate how much she'd be worth to them. She showed them a little of her money.

"It would cost _much_ more than that, my dear." the woman said.

"Perhaps I can pay in other ways?" Erika offered. "I can sweep, clean, wash dishes, perform such tasks as you think might recompense you."

The two looked at each other again.

"And you have no parents, no family, as might be concerned for you?"

Erika gulped and decided to lie.

"No."

"We can come to some arrangement, I think. Perhaps introduce you to a lady we know who is always looking to employ young girls such as yourself. Come round to the kitchen."

And the jaws of the trap began to close.

But other eyes were watching. And other ears were listening to the subsequent whispered conversation between husband and wife, which had words like "pretty child" and "no family looking for her", and "Dolores Smother" and "fifty dollars finders' fee, do you think?"

And those eyes and ears belonged to minds and bodies that had been trained to recognise and defuse traps.

* * *

Alice Band regarded the two empty bottles and three empty glasses with an eye trained by the Guild of Assassins to recognise common and uncommon poisons.

"_Pisco sour."_ she said. She remembered. The first glass had tasted like scumble. The second hadn't been so bad over numbed taste-buds. The third had been nectar. The fourth had loosened a lot of inhibitions.

"The ñational drink of my couñtry, Alice." Dolores de Gutierrez had said. "Distilled in the high mountain couñtry from grapes. Well, _maiñly_ grapes."

Dolores spoke good Morporkian, with, Alice noted, just a trace of a Paraquatian acceñt.

"And then we opeñed a bottle of _aguardiente. _¡Just to make sure!"

That explained a lot…

* * *

Assassins' Guild teacher Johanna Smith-Rhodes was sitting in on a class. It wasn't one she normally led; while she was perfectly able to take the subject, her daily life was already full to capacity with her own teaching, Housemistress responsibilities, and duties at the Zoo and Animal Management Unit. Lately she had taken on Wednesday afternoon lectures at the Guild of Fools and Joculators, and she also had occasional shifts as a Watch Special Constable. It was a busy life, but she was young and fit and enjoyed the variety.

Johanna was there this morning to perform an assessment on Teaching Assistant Heidi van Kruger, one of the growing group of low-paid dogsbodies at the School, the ones exploring a vocation for teaching, or paying their way in-house through higher level studies, or who the Guild had identified as prospective future full teachers and were investing in. Johanna suspected that in Heidi's case, the motivation was a desire to avoid returning to Rimwards Howondaland on graduating as a full Assassin. Back Home, pressure would be put on her to repay the Fatherland's investment in her by signing up with the Bureau of State Security for a few years. Heidi, like many others, had seen a different way of life in Ankh-Morpork, and was reluctant on those grounds alone to go back to the sticks. Besides, BOSS, the Staadt's all-purpose secret police, internal security and spy service, was not a nice organisation. Johanna knew her compatriot was reluctant to get her hands so dirty they couldn't be washed clean with even the strongest soap.

Johanna also appreciated the fact that in an already full syllabus, this class could only be fitted in as a supernumary thing, either first thing in the morning, last thing at night, or on the precious free Saturday afternoon. Yet all twelve pupils who had signed on were here. They were motivated.

"Herhaal weer!" Heidi intoned, rapping out the words on the blackboard with a pointer. "Om te wees."

"Ek is . U is. Dit is. Sy is. Dit is. Wat jy. Ons hulle!"

The pupils conjugated the verb with her. Johanna watched and took notes. Her native _Vondalaands_ language was becoming more and more important as Rimwards Howondaland became more strategically and economically important in the world. The Guild had suggested adding a voluntary module in Howondalandian languages. After all, a nation growing in political and economic stature would generate clients for the Guild's services. Assassins who could speak the languages of the country would be useful. Twelve students, some from the pre-black junior years, others on the Black, evidently agreed. Johanna wondered which would end up as Dark Clerks on Vetinari's Howondalandian Bureau. Or diplomats sent to the embassies there. And Canon Clement and her other protegée Ruth N'Kweze had been teaching the Zulu language to interested students for some time. White Howondaland had a little catching-up to do here.

Her native country had caught up in many ways, she reflected. It even had a local lodge of the Guild of Fools these days.

"_Ek is koud". _Heidi announced. "I am cold."

The class dutifully repeated it.

"_Ek is warm!"_

Johanna thought about the recent past. The ordeal at the Fools' Guild. The schism at the highest level over the monstrous Circus, where _women_ had performed clowning skills for the fist time. The clumsy attempt on the life of Alice Band. The dissapearance of a dissident senior clown. Vetinari's apprehension about civil war in the Fools' Guild. It had been ver two months ago, now…

"_Dit is baie snaaks!"_

_It is very funny, _Johanna agreed. An irrelevant thought intruded, as to the Morporkians using the word "snark" or "snarky" to define a certain type of sarcastic humour. She wondered how many of them knew it was a loan-word from her own language, or at least from the related Kerrigian.

She listened, noting how Heidi was gradually building from simple concepts to slightly more complex ones. From "it is" through "it is very cold/warm" to "This is very funny!"

"_Die grap is baie snaaks!"_

_The joke is very funny. _And the person who makes the joke, she wondered? There had been little trace of Brother Japester since he had gone to ground. Lord Downey had asked her to keep her ears open and make contacts at the Fools' Guild. But all she'd picked up on had been quiet unease at when he would resurface and what he would do. She had also identified several senior Clowns and Jesters who could not disguise their hostility at women being among their hallowed number for the first time. It was not, at the moment, a happy place. _Had it ever been? _Doris McGee and Dolores de Gutierrez , two of the first women to teach at the Fools' Guild, were also wary. Dolores meticulously set up and checked her tightropes for any sign of a repetition of the rope-cutting incident that had marred the performance and might have killed Alice. In fact, Alice had made it quietly clear that she was acting as personal safety consultant to Dolores and would pursue any assailant to the ends of the Disc, with extreme prejudice.

"_Ons is vriende. Is daar twee meisies. Die twee meisies is vriende"._

_The two girls are friends_, Johanna translated. _Well, knowing Alice, probably very close friends by now. _Johanna had been hopelessly naïve about some things when she'd first arrived in the big cosmopolitan city. She knew better now, and could tell at a glance when Alice Band had the hots for somebody.

"Say it egain, Mr Berrington! It is a difficult sound, I know. But not "twee" as in Morporkien. The "w" becomes a "vee" sound. "_Tvee_". No, not _ter-vee_. It must be one sylleble. "Tv". Sound the sylleble with me."

Johanna smiled and made a note. _Heidi had heard the mispronunciation, recognised it is a sound not known in Morporkian, and is correcting without chastising. Good teaching._

She frowned. _When would "Die een wat die grap maak", the one who makes the joke, the Japester, re-emerge? _Only time would tell…

* * *

Erika had been fed with some plain, but acceptably well-cooked, food. She had offered to wash up or clean glasses in repayment, but the woman had smiled, with some effort, and said she ought to go upstairs and sleep for the night. I'll wash and dry your clothes and find you a nightie? And we'll organise you a bath. I've spoken to my husband, and we're going to contact a _distinguished_ lady who comes here from time to time. She recruits young girls like you to work for her. We've got to have you looking your best for the interview, haven't we?

Erika washed and went to bed, feeling suspicious of the woman's motives and obviously strained, awkward, interest. She did not look as if her default position was one of kindness, Erika realised. But she was dead tired and needed sleep. That trumped everything else. She barely heard the door locking as she went to sleep….

* * *

"We've got problems, ladies and gentlemen." Sam Vimes said, without preamble. He looked around his senior and most experienced officers, gathered in the conference room.

"Well, we've always got problems." he amended. "That's what we're here for. We resolve problems. That's what we're _paid _for. And one of the biggest ones we've got is Brother Japester. His Lordship was kind enough to remind me this morning that Japester's not been found. A _lot _of people want his hide. Lord Vetinari. The bloody Assassins. The Thieves. Doctor Whiteface. _Us_."

He ticked them off on his fingers.

"It's been two months now. We had that lead that he was going out to Quirm. I'm forced to consider that might have been misdirection. Commandant Fournier of the _Gendarmerie_ assures me that his _Deuxieme Bureau_ have got a few _mouches_ in the Fools' Guild there."

Vimes was visibly awkward reading the unfamiliar Quirmian words off a report.

"That is, the local Watch have got their version of the Cable Street Particulars, who have a few contacts in the bloody Clowns." he translated. "But no sign. And talk of the Particulars leads me to… André? Victor?"

Inspector André Loudweather of the Cable Street Particulars shook his head.

"No new leads, sir. " he said. "So we're looking at the other Fools Guild centres, in order of importance. The Müning School has traditionally been powerful. But there's also the _Commedia Dell'Arte di Grim Aldi _in Brindisi. **(4) **And the _Iglesia de los Julios _in Toleda. We're checking them out, sir."

"And the order went out from Whiteface to all Clown Schools to get their fingers out and recruit women to train up." Vimes said. "Any resistance to the idea?"

"I don't think any of them were especially keen, sir." said Andre. "But obedience to the hierarchy is so ingrained that they all felt they had no option but to comply."

"Any of them complain especially long and noisily?"

"Müning, sir. They only complied with the greatest of bad grace."

Vimes considered this.

"Did anywhere in the wide wonderful world of clowning accept the notion of women in the profession with unreserved joy and open arms? Surprise me."

"King Verence of Lancre argued very strongly for it, sir. As a starred Guild graduate and a monarch, his opinion counts with the Council of Mirth. But there's no school of clowning there. Apparently he wants a woman jester in his Court as he thinks it can't be any worse than the alternative, and might even be an improvement. And the Acerian Guild is all for it. But they've always been thought a bit liberal and innovative out there." **(5)**

"We'll look at Müning, then. Tell me more about the place, somebody. Angua?"

* * *

Erika suddenly awoke from a deep glorious sleep. Something was nibbling insistently at her ear…

"Wake up! Wake up _now_!"

"Astfwgwyl?" Her eyes opened. "oh, it's you. How long have I been asleep?"

"Quite a few hours. You needed it. But this is as long as we could safely leave it. We've got to go. NOW. You're in danger."

"Erika thought of her suspicions about the woman. She reluctantly swung her legs out of bed.

"But my clothes? My boots?"

"We pitched them out of the scullery window. You can pick them up outside. We've got to GO!"

Erika made for the door, then realised it was locked.

"They won't be awake for ages yet. Big gin drinkers, see? And they're not expecting you to escape. They think you trust them, and they took care to lock the door and take your clothes away. But they didn't know about US!" Dubbin said, with pride. "Quick, out of the window. Your clothes are down there. Hurry!"

Erika, still fuzzy with sleep, slid out of the bedroom window, doing her best to swing the shutters closed behind her.

"I'll sort that out." Dubbin said. "Now get dressed, quickly! There are horses in the stables. If we borrow one, we'll get to Ankh-Morpork the quicker. Then we've both got our missions to perform!"

"What kept you?" his sister Cherry Blossom said, crossly. She was sitting on Erika's clothes.

"Had to convince dozy here she wasn't in the best of hands." Dubbin said. "We both heard what those bloody humans planned to do with her!"

And twenty minutes later, they were trotting away on a borrowed horse. They would be a good ten miles away before anyone noticed.

"so what were they going to do to me?" Erika asked. "Chop me up and put me in the pies?"

"Worse." said Dubbin, taking his ease in her left-hand pocket. "why are you humans the only race who'll sell their young into slavery? And they say _we're_ the dirty ones!"

"You know those two rat catchers our father talks about? The ones who robbed Bad Blinz blind and put the keekees into the pit to be eaten by dogs while other humans cheered? " said Cherry Blossom.

Erika nodded. Every child in Bad Blinz had learnt the story from Malicia, the town's official story-teller. _Every_ child, both Human and Rat.

"These were _worse_." Dubbin said, with feeling.

The two rats had perched, unseen, on a beam in the roof while erika had walked right into a trap, of the sort stronger unscrupulous humans use to ensnare weaker ones, such as children with nobody to guard them.

Apparently they'd talked about her fetching seventy-five dollars, maybe more, from somebody called Dolores Smother, who had been thrown out of the Seamstresses' Guild for conduct unbecoming.**(6)** Apparently she now worked as a freelance, servicing a niche market the official Guild did not cater for.

"And he said he was doing you a favour, would you believe it!" Cherry Blossom squeaked. "Said he was only setting up a poor orphan girl in a recognised trade and you'd come to thank him for it!"

"And.. She'd have paid a lot of money for me. And she'd insist I paid it back, with interest, out of my…_earnings_?"

"You'd never have escaped". said Dubbin. "She'd have made out you hadn't finished paying off the interest and you owed her."

Erika felt cold all over. She'd seen the official Seamstress in Bad Blinz and heard her mother darkly say that woman is no better than she should be. **(7). **She had a dim going-on-twelve-years-old idea of what the woman did to earn a living, but all she knew was that Frau Rotteslicht always had a kind smile and sometimes a sweetie for the children. She did wonder why she had a red lantern in her bedroom window and men knocking at the door at all times of night, though. And she'd narrowly escaped…

"Thank you" she said, humbly.

"Don't mention it!" said Cherry Blossom. "We widdled in their beer, anyway. _And _into the gin bottle. Took some doing, let me tell you!"

And a girl, two rats, and a stolen horse, cantered on towards the City of Destiny.

* * *

Joan Sanderson-Reeves took the register in her classroom. Day students needed careful counting; it wasn't as if they were boarders who were on hand all the time, barring accidents.

"Askew?"

"Here, miss!"

She ticked off a name.

"Asquith?"

"Here, Miss!" (tick)

"Ampleforth Minor?"

No response.

"Ampleforth Minor?" Louder, this time. Still no response.

"_Ampleforth Minor?" _she demanded, in a louder and more irritable voice.

"_Oh, er… _Here, miss. Sorry, miss."

"Present in body, evidently, but certainly not in spirit!" she observed.

"Wake _up_, boy! " she demanded. "It's only eight in the morning, for the Gods' sake!"

Joan glared at him, allowed the giggling to subside, and continued.

"Borassic-Lint."

"Here, miss!"

As she continued with the register, a track in Joan's mind wondered what had become of that dratted clown, Japester. She'd performed what had been considered to be a wholly appropriate fire-breathing act at the monstrous Circus that day. Braver pupils who knew they had not done anything to fall from grace sometimes asked "please, miss. The fire-breathing. How did you do it? Can you teach it?"

She had replied, oddly flattered, that it was a skill that could be taught, yes, and she might sometime demonstrate it for the School. She also cautioned against any practical experiments, and had tipped off other teachers that the idea had caught the imagination of the student body and they should be aware of the possibility some damn-fool youth might try it and hurt themselves. Matron Igorina, in fact, was to deal with an occasional over-confident casualty.

Joan was one of the older teachers at the Guild school and was a late entrant to the profession. Teaching had been her life and she was still single in her fifties, although several enamoured male teachers were vying to end that single state. This also both amused and flattered her.

She also had pastoral responsibilities to pupils in her care. She had shown rare leniency to the Morgendorffer girl after a blunder in her domestic science class. Apparently the girl was upset that normally frequent letters from home in Überwald had dried up and disappeared. Apparently the last letter she'd got had been to tell her that her younger sister had gone missing and had vanished completely. She'd left Müning to go and visit an aunt in Bad **B**linz, and then… nothing. Realising how worrying bad news followed by a complete absence of news could be, Joan had not shouted at or roasted the girl. Instead, she'd put the girl on oven-cleaning duties so that hard work could keep her occupied. Oven cleaning normally rotated around her students, but could be informally allocated as a punishment chore. And one or two other students had reported an absence of mail from Müning. It was all very perplexing. She made a note to ask young Maroon, the mail-boy, if any mail was getting out of Müning at all.

"Chlorophill?"

"Here, Miss!" (tick)

"Coruscate?"

Here, Miss!" (tick)

* * *

And Erika finally arrived in Ankh-Morpork. She passed the Zoo on the outskirts of the city, pausing in excitement to look at what animals were visible through the fence. The Rats urged her to move on. Large predatory animal sounds and smells were making them nervous. She reflected that lots of things ate rats, and reluctantly rode on, wanting to see more of the Disc-famous Zoo.

Scattered houses became ribbon development along the main road. A one-house-deep ribbon became side-streets and back roads behind them. More and more people were out and about, more than Erika had ever seen in her life. The rats, unseen, urged her to take care as lots of people here were thieves, and you've already had one narrow escape.

Understanding, she rode on to a gate. Two city guards, they had to be, barred her way. One reminded her strongly of Corporal Knoppel at home.

"Fine horse for a young girl, miss." almost-Knoppel said, in Morporkian.

"_Ja_." she agreed, and then, remembering, said "Yes. I was loaned it for the journey."

"From Überwald, are you?" he said, appraising the horse. "Fits the description of one that was reported _stolen _from a tavern along that way. The owner raised seven kinds of Hell, he did!"

Erika hoped her face wasn't betraying her. The other gate guard grinned; she could see now that this wasn't a _he. She _was slight, petite even, and gracefully athletic. Her lips rolled back to reveal…

_Oh, no! No!_

"Leave her alone, Nobby." the vampire said. "She's from Überwald, like me, and I expect she's got friends or family in the city who are expecting her? _Nicht wahr, kleine_?"

Erika realised the vampire wasn't about to eat her. She was even being friendly and sympathetic.

"Besides." the vampire girl added, "how do you know she's not _exactly_ like me, Nobby?"

The guard corporal stood back hurriedly and saluted.

"Welcome to Ankh-Morpork, miss." he said, deferentially.

Erika tried not to grin at the friendly "Isn't that right, kid?" from the vampire constable.

Who stepped forwards and smiled up at her. Even with teeth like that it was oddly comforting.

"Listen." Sally said, in Überwaldean. If you want to take my advice, you'll trade that horse in - _quickly _- for cash or a replacement at Hobson's. Go for cash. You'll need it. We get clacksed with details of stolen horses coming into the city and we look out for them. Hobson will know it's nicked and he'll try to beat you down, but don't go any lower than fifteen dollars. That'll buy you bed and board for a month if you're careful. Tell Hobson I sent you and you're a friend of mine. Sally von Humpeding. Got that? When he hears that, he might go up to twenty-five. He doesn't want the Watch walking in and he certainly doesn't want _me_. Besides, the saddle and the tack are worth at least another fifteen. If you get into any trouble, ask for me at any Watch house and say you're a friend. _Auf weidersehen_!"

Sally added quick directions to Hobson's, and both Watchmen turned to see Erika into the city.

"Vampire talk, miss?" Nobby asked. He spoke no Überwaldean.

"Yes, Nobby. In a very real sense that was a vampire talking." she agreed. "Just cutting some slack to a girl from the old country. Besides, I _know_ that tavern. It's run by people I would dearly love to see put in the Schloss dungeons.**(8)** Know what I mean? If she's made trouble for them, she's a friend."

* * *

The corridors at the Assassins' guild School were packed with pupils making their way between classes. But Joan Sanderson-Reeves knew practically every one by face, name, standard of observed behaviour, and House allegiance.

And they knew it too. As they clocked her watching them, they suddenly became models of good behaviour and deportment.

"Kindly do not _slouch_, miss Sullivan!" Joan called, making it known that she was watching. "Thank you _so_ much." She glared again.

"Mr Bolt! Do not _run_, boy!"

Then she spotted a student she wanted to talk to.

"Miss Morgendorffer! A _moment_, if you please!"

Fourteen year old Dariella Morgendorffer detached herself from a group of girls and reluctantly walked over. Joan ushered her to a quieter corner and asked, in a lower voice,

"Any news of your missing sister, m'dear?"

"Nothing, miss." Dariella said. "No letters or anything from home. And it isn't just me. Other people from Müning aren't getting mail either. It's very strange."

"Well. I see. Do keep me informed. I agree this is strange. I'll have a word with your housemistress, Miss Smith-Rhodes, and I'll ask around. Perhaps bandits are holding up the mail coaches, or something. It has been known. If I can back Mr von Lipwig into a corner, I'll ask if the post Office knows anything we don't. Leave it to me!"

Dariella scuttled gratefully off, and Joan took a deep breath. What was holding up the mail from Müning? She'd have to ask at the next Dark Council meeting. _Is there more to this than meets the eye?_

* * *

**(1) **In fact, Gougham City was an optimistically-named settlement in Aceria, another of Ankh-Morpork's occasionally troublesome former colonies. The national anthem runs _Aceria, Aceria, from Hub to shining sea… _and extols maple syrup, lumberjacking, Mom's apple pie, the right to arm bears, and other local quirks. One especially troublesome enclave spoke Quirmian and extolled different sentiments. Aceria was surfacing like an iceberg in a shipping lane, and had already bequeathed the secret of line-dancing and country and widdershins music to Ankh-Morpork.

**(2) **Essentially the plot of Terry Pratchett's _**The Amazing Maurice and His Educated Rats….**_

**(3) **Just to remind your author about Spanish punctuation and how to do it on an English keyboard. The upside-down punctuation marks are** ALT + 173 = ¡ and ALT + 168 = ¿ ALT + 164 = ñ. **

**(4) **Founded several hundred years ago by a Signor Aldi, one of Brindisi's most notorious clowns. The honorific "Grim" was conferred on a visit to Ankh-Morpork. Knowing no Morporkian and believing it was a compliment to his entertainment skills, Signor Aldi adopted the new forename in tribute.

A _Julio del Iglesia _was a Toledan euphemism for "complete idiot with few entertainment skills".

**(5) **The_**Cirque de Celui **_in Quirmian Aceria had clandestinely been training women for years, although they had to pose as men for performances.

**(6)** Dolores Smother appears in Terry Pratchett's _**Monstrous Regiment **_as the sort of Seamstress who will not repair the holes in your pocket lining so much as knock you over the head and clean out all your pockets. The Guild eventually caught up with her, closed down her operation, and expressed its disapproval at the demarcation issue raised with the Thieves' Guild. Robbing the client is not considered good business practice by the Seamstresses. Not a nice woman to know.

**(7) **Meanwhile, Erika's father suspected she was a lot better than he had a right to expect…

**(8) **And this was being lenient. The old unreformed Sally would just have got them on their own, outdoors, at night.


	13. The Killing Joke

_**A War In Clowndom - 4**_

_**The Überwaldean city of Müning is an isolated place. Given the force that drives its economy and which directly or indirectly employs everybody in the town, people say the more isolated the better. There are few Dwarfs here: the mines nearest the surface are all played out and spent, and such Dwarf activity as still goes on happens a long, long, way down. Dwarfs bypass the human world here. They know trouble when they see it, and prefer to trade and interact with the human race in other locations of their choosing. It is a long way away from cosmopolitan Bönk, the principal city, or Schlither, the religiously-inclined city, or indeed even picturesque Kanelnummerfunf and its twin city RasierwasserPflagensbalsamdorf on the mighty river Schlitz. **_

_**Müning prefers it this way. Some things have to go on in isolation and outside the ken of the human race. Dark and unspeakable things.**_

The Guild of Assassins has a representative bureau in all the major towns. Even Lancre, where admittedly the Guild bureau just consists of a postcard in Quarney's general store window saying a part-time Guild member will be in the bar of the Goat and Compass on alternate Thursday afternoons, two till four, just on the off chance. **(1)**

Hermann Meier Wetterarsch was a graduate Assassin, but only just. In his worst moments, Hermann considered the Guild had allowed him to Pass because he'd just about got through the Final Run, having stumbled into not one but a total of _six _Emergency Drops, somehow getting through them alive and intact because the Gods liked a laugh, and wanted him to stay alive to see how amusing the _next _one would be. He obscurely felt he was here as the clinching proof that even Mr Mericet had a deep-down well-concealed sense of humour.

And Lord Downey had called him to the Master's Office for a sherry and the obligatory word of congratulations to an, ah, _outstanding_ student. Hermann had felt bucked up for a few moments, but he had then noticed that not only Downey but Lady T'Malia, Mr Nivor his housemaster, Miss Sanderson-Reeves, Herr von Graumunchen, and Mr Mericet were all keeping extremely and suspiciously straight faces.

"Indeed, we have all noted at intervals over the past seven years how your, ah, clowning skills have entertained and sustained the morale of your peers, and on occasion, that of your teachers." Downey had said, smoothly. Miss Sanderson-Reeves nodded, grimly. As one of few males on her Domestic Science course **(2), **Hermann had succeeded in successfully simulating the most potent dwarf bread, something few humans could do: the fact it had catastrophically destroyed an oven not meant for the weight had not escaped her attention. Worse, he'd actually been trying to do brioche.

"Therefore, in consultation with the Dark Council, several members of which are here today, the Guild is pleased to offer you a position which carries a salaried stipend."

Downey extended a hand.

"Congratulations, Herr Wetterarscht. You are now officially Chief Assassin at our Müning bureau. I expect you are excited at the prospect of returning home to Überwald?" **(3)**

And he'd now been here for three long years. Solo, with only an infrequent succession of senior students sent out on fieldwork or to see practice, for company. He sighed. On the plus side, it was an easy life. All he had to do was to send regular coded reports back to Filigree Street on life here in Müning. Who was who, any shifts in the balance of power, the relationship between Town and Gown, or rather Town And Over-Large Floppy Shoe, any new faces, any changes, and what he could glean about the other Guilds here, one in particular…. Nobody wanted or could afford to contract for Assassination. In any case, the all-powerful local Guild dealt with disciplinary matters up to and possibly including. The local Wacht was lazy, and he suspected was composed of men Police-General March had wanted to move on from more visible postings in places like Bönk as liabilities, or for disciplinary reasons. Up here in the mountains, it was end-of-the-line for just about _everything. _

His chain of thought took in his own hastily speeded departure from Ankh-Morpork, and he winced. The Bureau was a comfortably presentable set of rooms over a pork butcher's shop on _ZementAusgegossenImDieHosen Strasse._

For gratis accomodation, it wasn't bad. And the Guild stipend, which would have been adequate in Ankh-Morpork, gave him more than adequate means here. Even though there were few bierhausen - the City Management disapproved of strong drink and licenced it savagely - Hermann could at least live like a gentleman.

He heard feet on the stairs. More than one person. He stood up.

"And what can I do for you fine people…Unghhh!"

The custard pie in the face took him completely by surprise. It tasted and smelt of… ether. His last conscious thought was a memory of Miss Smith-Rhodes shaking her head in dissapproval as he measured his length on the crash mat.

"_Slow, _Mr Wetterarscht! You really hev to improve your reflexes end response times!"

He swayed, and fell over. Capable hands steered him to the carpet.

"Yes, miss. Sorry, miss." he burbled, and lost consciousness.

* * *

"What was all _that_ about?" TomFool Heiterkeit asked, as he gently laid the inert Assassin down.

"Don't ask me. Just clean the custard off his face and see he's breathing, right? It's important not to kill him, the Herr FreudeFuhrer said. And if he breathes too much ether, it's stopped being a joke." said Breuder Letzter Teil Eines Witzes Das Humorvoll Ist, who was leading the mission. He had the rank of _UnterSturmwitzesfuhrer. _Heiterkeit was a lowly _Witzesmann._

"They use women to teach at the Assassins School, don't they? Sounds like he was remembering a lesson." said a third Sturmklown.

"And see where being taught by women takes you." said the Leader. "A good lesson. Now get him out of here, while I look for their codebooks and prepare a clacks for Ankh-Morpork."

One clown paused, looking doubtful under his slap.

"Won't we get into trouble for this?" he asked. "I mean, right, granted we haven't killed him. But the Assassins gets _intense_ about people assaulting their members. And we're taking over their office. Nicking their codebooks. Sending false clacks messages. They won't just get _mediaeval_ on our _arsch_, they're gonna get all _**Dark Ages**_!"

Their leader glared at him.

"Do you doubt the word of the Herr FreudeFuhrer?" he asked, icily. "He does not yet want open war with the Assassins. He will no doubt apologise for inconvenience caused and offer reparation when he is the undoubted Master of the Guild. But remember the teaching! _Heute, der Freudensgild! Morgens, die DiskWelt! "_

_''Heil!"_ chorused the other clowns.

" _Freude Heil!_"

* * *

Erika Morgendorffer rode her horse through the uncomfortably crowded streets, trying to recall and apply the directions Sally had given her. She was trusting the two rats to watch out for potential thieves, but none had yet tried to do anything. She hoped. Trying to look as if she was not new to the city, she smilingly shook her head and refused a seemingly benign request to hold her horse.

Hobson Livery Stables.

She stopped and asked a passing watchman, quoting her association with Sally. This Watchman evidently hadn't read the briefing on horses reported stolen, as he grinned and courteously pointed her in the right direction.

Willie Hobson turned out to be swarthy, unshaven, of medium height, but powerfully broad shouldered. He looked the horse over, critically, and asked "Picked this'un up off the Uberwald road, you say, miss?"

"Yes. It was loaned to me." she said. Lying was getting easier. She wondered if it was something in the local air. Hobson nodded, but his eyes said it was clear he did not believe her.

"Five dollars, miss. And three for the tack."

"No." she said. "My friend Sally von Humpeding advised me of its true worth."

Hobson looked back at her, taking a long time to reply, appraising her.

"Sally said she would check with me later as to what you were prepared to pay .Perhaps visit you, too" Erika added. She held his stare and tried not to blink first.

Fifteen dollars, miss. Eight for the tack. Final offer."

She felt a rustling on her back, on Hobson's blind side. An insistent little voce said, near her ear_ "tell him, let me show you what I can do! Then when he sees, go up to thirty-five and eighteen!"_

Hobson broke off.

"Bloody _rats!" _he said, disgustedly, and looked for something to throw.

"Sorry for language, miss, but them little so… _rodents_… gets everywhere! They must come with the turf."

Hobson found and threw a stone. Erika tried not to look.

"Missed, boss." said a watching ostler. "And I could ov swore the little bugger give you a raspberry!"

"You're not paid to bloody swear, Figgis!" Hobson snapped. "Get to work!"

"Sorry, boss." said Figgis, picking up a hayfork. He stood and watched the hay. Was it meant to undulate like that? And it was _squeaking_. Rats fighting over scraps? And then…

"Bloody _hell, _boss!" he shrieked.

The whole of the haystore exploded into a storm of dried grass and rats. Panicked rats. Hundreds of them. Knowing something was expected of her, Erika took a harmonica from her pocket and began playing, a jolly tune old Sardines had taught her. The wild _keekee _rats rushed past her and out of the open doors of the stables. Several labourers leapt out of the way. Only Erika saw the last two rats, who sauntered out unhurriedly as though droving cattle, were sleeker, better groomed, and exuded more intent than the rest. And only Erika heard Dubbin shout at her

"_Now sell the horse, dozy! Thirty-five and eighteen, remember! Catch you outside_!"

She waited until she had Willie Hobson's full attention.

"Thirty-five for the horse, Mr Hobson. And eighteen for the saddle and tack."

"Thirty." Hobson said, weakly. "And fifteen for the tack. Fin…"

"Erika raised a hand to stop him. It was not the one that held the harmonica.

"Do you want me to call them back, Mr Hobson?" she asked. "I can play that tune in reverse."

She lifted the harmonica to her lips. But Hobson was already counting dollars.

"Thirty-five and eighteen." he said, wearily. "And an extra five if you promise not to come back."

Erika left, fifty-eight dollars richer. That was a fortune in Ankh-Morpork: easily two months pay for a skilled worker.

Behind her, Hobson shook his head.

"A bloody rat pip… rat mouth-organist." he said. Just my luck."

"She shifted them rats, though, boss." said Figgis. "So you got something out of it."

"Get to work, Figgis. Get Igor to give this horse a respray. Then it's deniable if the Watch come calling."

"Yes, boss."

* * *

Erika caught up with her two companion rats outside.

"Got the, you know?" Cherry Blossom asked.

"The…? Oh, in my pock…"

"Good" Cherry Blossom said, leaping up and speeding up the side of her dress. "I'll ride crossbow on it." She felt a rat making herself comfortable on fifty-five dollars in notes. Odd coins were in a different pocket.

Hhow did you do _that_?" she asked.

"Oh, just training in keekee-handling." Dubbin said, off-handedly. "Dad taught me. Secret he learnt from the Great Hamnpork. Challenge their leader, kill him, take over, and you control the whole clan. You just have to _threaten_ them a bit. If it helps, I told them to lie low for a few hours then sneak back in later tonight. It's their clan patch, after all."

They walked on. Erika asked which way was Filigree Street.

"Don't know, but if that's where they train Assassins, just follow the loudest screams, I guess." said Dubbin.

They followed, if not the screams, then vague directions given by assorted citizens.

Then she was jostled in the crowd and pandemonium began.

* * *

Steffi Gibbet made her way back to the Thieves Guild, humming a cheerful tune, despite the slightly numbing hangover of the night before.

_The night before. Last night._

It had easily been one of the best nights of her whole life. Who needed the Seamstresses' Guild when you were with a highly trained Assassin in the peak of physical fitness… _and_ a lifelong circus performer with an incredibly supple body. And a couple of bottles of something strong that had cancelled out inhibition. She grinned, blissed out. Maybe Dolores had planned that? No. last night was a night you could never plan. It had all happened spontaneously.

And then she walked into the street theatre. Street theatre happened a lot in Ankh-Morpork. It always gathered a crowd. Steffi stood on tiptoes to look over the heads of people around her. It all seemed to centre on a young, woebegone-looking girl of about eleven or twelve, who seemed all alone in the world. Somebody seemed to have tried to pickpocket her, maybe the old stunt where you pretended to walk into somebody, said "sorry" and in the moment of confusion transferred the contents of their pockets to yours. It was elementary thiefcraft, except that the weedy-looking man hopping around holding one bleeding hand in the other and spitting threats and curses at the girl was not somebody she recognised as a Guild member. And nobody seemed to be taking the child's side…

As a foundling who had been left on the Thieves' Guild steps, Steffi had an disposition that drew her to take the side of vulnerable young girls with no obvious parents to speak for them. Besides, this was Guild business… she loosened her dagger in its sheath and shouldered her way forward, shouting "Stand aside! Thieves' Guild! Make way!"

"That bloody pet of yours _bit_ me!" the man was cursing, as blood dripped onto the cobbles. "That's assault, that is! I want compensation! I want my rights!"

Steffi noticed an angry rat popping up from the girl's pocket.

"Speaking of _rights_" she said. "do you know who I am?"

"Who the hell are _you_?" he shouted, angrily. Steffi stuck her jaw out.

"As it happens, I'm Stephanie Gibbet, Licenced thief number 17232." She held her Guild card out for inspection.

"Now since you had your hand in this young girl's pocket, and disturbed her pet rat, it bit you."

Steffi frowned. Had she just heard "_Pet? I'm not a bloody __**pet**_!" coming from somewhere? Not important…

"And for you to have put your hand in her pocket, that means one of two things. You're either a thief or a pervert. I had a good night last night so I'm assuming _thief. _Guild card, please. And I've got the right to ask. I've got guild seniority. If you were a Guild member, you'd know that."

The man paled. A dagger suddenly appeared in Steffi's hand.

"Er.. Must have left it at home…"

"Unlicenced? Dear me." Steffi said, sorrowfully. "Now at the very least I could break your fingers, and the Watch would look the other way, as I've got the _right_ to. That means paperwork back at the Guild, though. But as I see that rat bit _very_ deeply, and more than once, you won't be thieving for a while and that's as good as my taking a cosh to your knuckles!"

Steffi grinned. It was not comforting.

"The Lady Sybil's that way. " She jerked a thumb. "Now before I tell you to piss off, if I ever see you thieving on these streets again, I might have had a _bad _night that time. And then I'll break every bone in both your hands. Got it? _Now_ piss off. If you hurry, you can get to Casualty before you lose any more blood!"

The unlicensed thief stumbled off.

Steffi sheathed her dagger and turned to the girl.

"Kid, in _this_ city you _don't_ let on that you've got money." she said. "No need to worry about me, I'm up to quota for the month, your cash is safe. Now tell me who you are and why you're here?"

"I want to go to the Assassins' Guild". Erika said, feeling she could trust this new self-confessed Thief. "My sister is a student there. I am hoping she can arrange for me to meet people I can talk to about bad things happening at home. Home is in Überwald. Bad Blintz, although I have relatives in Muning."

Steffi nodded, gently. Erika began to feel warmer towards her saviour's sympathetic face.

"Ok, listen. I'll walk with you to the Guild. I've got friends there too. Alice Band, one of the teachers."

Erika nodded.

"My sister Dariella has written about Alice Band." she said. "Miss Band is a good teacher, she says."

Most of the crowd remained.

Steffi turned to them.

"Just so you all know." she said, conversationally. "This kid's now under formal protection of the Guild of Thieves. I'm pretty sure when I get her safely to the Assassins' Guild, they'll take an interest _too_. Noblesse oblige, and all that. Although _I'm_ body- guarding her right now, 'cos it's the right thing to do. You've all got that? Good. Thank you for your time!"

* * *

Joan Sanderson-Reeves had gone to the Porter's Lodge. She said an affable good morning to Mr Maroon, one of the two most senior porters, and asked if she could have a word with his son, young Maroon the mail boy.

"He's not in any trouble or anything, Mr Maroon. In fact, he could be jolly helpful to me right now!"

Maroon had led her to the mail-room, a place where Assassins did not normally go. Young Maroon looked up in surprise from where he was sorting the delivery from Post office sacks into internal bags and pigeon-holes.

"Just a moment of your time, Mr Maroon!" Joan said, genially. Young Maroon perked up. It was the very first time one of the high-ups had given him a "Mr". It felt like a rite of passage. He could see his father swelling up with pride.

"I need to ask about mail out of Überwald. Have there been any problems? Any gaps, and disruptions to deliveries?"

"It's funny you should ask that, ma'am." Young Maroon said. "There's been nothing amiss with mail out of Bönk, or Schlither, or Kanelnummerfunf and Rasierwasser-Pflagensbalsamdorf. But places further out, Muning and Bad Blintz. Up in the isolated mountain country. Nothing at all. And there are ladies and gentlemen here from both places who are really getting worried!"

Joan reflected how dealing with mail and having an interest in stamp collecting had given Young Maroon a grasp of the Disc's political geography and even pronunciation of tricky place-names that put a lot of her more socially advanced students to shame. **(4)**

"They say Mr von Lipwig is looking into it, ma'am." Young Maroon added, helpfully. "He's from Lipzwiger, in Uberwald. He'll sort things out!"

Joan smiled, graciously.

"Thank you, Mr Maroon. You have been most helpful. Here's something for your time."

She handed over a tip. And then Mr Stippler, nor _the_ Mr Stippler but a lesser member of the other hereditary portering family, called through from the public front area: the bell rang three times quickly, which meant _Assistance Required. _

Joan and both the Maroons walked briskly out to find nobody at the front desk. A shaken-looking young girl was standing in the waiting area with a student Assassin, sword drawn, standing guard over her. Joan raised an eyebrow.

"She's not under arrest, ma'am." the student said. "I was ordered to keep her safe."

He glanced towards the outside door. The noise of uproar and panic was loud in the air. Joan curtly said "Keep the gel safe, then.", noting the girl, about eleven she thought, was looking shaken and frightened but keeping her composure. She was dressed in good quality street clothes, but stained and dusty from travel. As Joan hurried to the door, she saw an odd, organic, movement in one of her coat pockets. But that wasn't yet important…

"What's going _on_?" she demanded. Like all scenes of action and event, lots of people had been drawn there than it needed and were milling around. Then she saw the blood.

"Go and fetch Matron Igorina, if you please." she directed Young Maroon, who rushed off.

The woman was lying face-down, supported by a young Assassin. He reached for the throwing knife that was part embedded in her back.

"No!" Joan shouted. "Leave it _in_ there, you damn fool boy! You don't know what it might have damaged inside. Pulling it out might kill her. Leave it for Igorina, she knows what she's doing!"

"She's Thieves' Guild, ma'am." said Mr Stippler. Joan could read the signs too. Young, female, short-cut well styled red-brown hair, good quality leather jacket, standard thief-issue working belt, knives down each boot… and then the thief's head lifted and she saw who it was.

"Oh, my _gods_!" Joan exclaimed. She knelt down. Steffi Gibbet forced a smile.

"Stephanie? Don't try to talk, m'dear. Help's on its way. The best. Igorina."

Steffi nodded. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth.

"Hurts. Like hell." she whispered. Joan took her hand.

_Alice is going to go absolutely Bursar, _Joan thought, _She will be out to _**kill **_whoever did this._ Then the icy thought squeezed her heart. _Gods, it wasn't a lovers' tiff, was it? Gels like Alice can get a bit exciteable, I've heard. Hot-tempered. _

"I didn't see. Who. " Steffi whispered. "Bringing girl. Here. Is she safe?"

"Yes. She's safe."

"She's important, Joan. _Müning. _Ask her…"

Then Steffi's head lolled as Matron Igorina ran through the crush, a stretcher under one arm. She stooped and did a quick examination.

"Get her on the stretcher. Face-down. You and you. Carry her. Be useful. To the infirmary. Now."

"Can't stop, Joan. I need to operate straight away. See me later. Keep Alice out of the way." Igorina said, brusquely.

Joan took a deep breath. A junior Assassin ran in from the street. He was holding two throwing knives, carefully, by the blades, in his gloved hands.

"At least three knives were thrown, ma'am." he said, breathlessly. "No blood on either of these. So we can presume they missed."

"Bag them up for Igorina." Joan said, firmly. "She might get fingerprints or something from them. Identifying marks."

"Took a bit of persuading to get them back." the Assassin said, reflectively. "The chap who picked them up wanted to sell them on, on the "finders keepers" principle. "I had to lean on him a little. And there are Watchmen out there saying they want the knives, as it happened on their jurisdiction. That might cause a problem, ma'am, if Commander Vimes comes here and complains."

"You did well, Mr Ogilvy. Very well indeed." Joan said. "Thank you. Now rush those weapons to Matron Igorina, with all speed. If Commander Vimes asks, I shall jolly well say "no". He can't argue with possession being nine-tenths of the law, after all."

She took a deep breath and said, decisively, "Now see here, people! A young gel gets stabbed in the back practically inside our gates. I'm not having that. She might be a Thief, but she's a friend of this Guild. Damn it and drat it, she was…_is_… a friend of _mine_! And anyone who knows me will be aware that I do not make friends easily! I will shortly be recommending to the Dark Council that we issue a contract. Do _not_ rush to accept it. Not unless you wish to make an enemy of Miss Band, who I'm damn sure will be first in the queue to take it. Mr Ogilvy, you are _still _here?"

The young Assassin tasked with getting the knives to Matron Igorina for forensic examination frowned at her.

"You ought to know, ma'am. The maker's marks say these are the product of Edgesson's dwarf foundry on Brewer Street. But they're not ours. And they're not Thieves' Guild. If I'm not mistaken, these are the ones they make bespoke for the Guild of Clowns, for their knife-throwing acts."

Joan recalled that Ogilvy had received top marks in Bladed Weapons. He knew his knives.

"Now _that_ might be important." she said. "Well done, Mr Ogilvy, but _do_ get those weapons to Igorina, poste-haste. Thank you."

She dismissed the crowd, put a porter on guard over the blood trails, and went back inside the porters' lodge.

She nodded at the girl, then sat down opposite her.

"Right, my dear. You can start by telling me who you are and where you're from. No hurry. Mr Stippler, a pot of tea would be _very_ soothing at this time. Thank you so much!"

"Right y'are, ma'am!" the porter said, and bustled off.

The girl looked Joan full in the eye.

"My name is Erika Morgendorffer." she said. "I have come from Bad Blintz by way of Müning. I was hoping to see my sister, who is a student here."

"Ahh!" Joan said, forcing a smile. "You have made a _lot_ of people very worried over the last few weeks. Not least your older sister, I have to say. You ran away from home. Which at… not quite twelve years old… is both very naughty. And I have to say it, very damn silly, too. Lots of things can happen to a girl of your age on her own, far from home and hope of rescue. Most of them bad things."

"Ja." Erika agreed, hanging her head and remembering the inn. And the name of Dolores Smother.

"But you got here. What is so important that you had to run away, to _this_ city, of all places? And without telling your mother and father. At the least, I must insist on a home address, so we can contact them and say you're safe!"

"It was easiest this way. So they wouldn't tell …_them_… that I'd run away. Or they would have come for me. _They_ came for Stephanie just now. _They_ may have been after _me_!"

"Who are "they", Erika?" Joan asked, wondering if she didn't already know the answer. "This may be more important than you think!"

"The clowns, frau. The _clowns_!"

_Ah. _thought Joan_. Now we find out. _

"Was it a clown who stabbed Stephanie?"

"Yes. Steffi was very kind. She rescued me from another Thief and offered to escort me here. She said she'd explain to the Assassins not to send me away, that I had information they needed. I told her my story as we walked. She said the clowns here were arguing a lot and she had recently been placed in danger from some of them. She said she and others offended some Clowns at a circus. I told her of this new Clown who came by night to Müning. He has a hold over them. They call him the SchadenFreudeFuhrer. The leader of mirth, for short. He left this city in dark circumstances. He has taken over the Müning Guild. He has a hold on them. I am not sure, but my father said not to offend Clowns as they are very powerful in Müning. They own the city, he said. Everyone there depends on the Clowns for their living. I heard they are opening and reading all mail that leaves the City. If what it says is not to their liking, they ensure it is not sent. I do not know why they do this."

She paused, The tea arrived. Joan poured for herself and the girl.

"_Danke, gnadige Frau_. Much milk, please, and sugar."

"And Steffi was stabbed."

"Ja. I am sorry it happened on my account. She was very kind. As we came to the gates outside, she was hit by a throwing knife. She somehow rolled into the gates, but not in a straight line. Two other knives missed. She screamed at the men in black on the gate to get me to safety and guard me. One hustled me in here. He was friendly and said his sword was for my protection. And the rest you saw."

Erika sipped her tea.

"This is good tea." she said. "Thank you."

"You saw a clown throw the knife?" Joan pressed. "This will be very important. Did you get a good look at his face?"

"!I clearly saw the Face of one of them. But not the one who caused hurt. If you have coloured paints or pencils, I can draw it for you. It is clear in my memory."

"Ah, you know a Clown's real Face is…"

"The one he chooses, or which is bequeathed to him. His red nose is his real nose. Ja. "

"You know a lot about clowns?"

"I wished since I was a little girl to perform in the circus. Just as Dariella wished to study at this School. I was overjoyed when word came from Ankh-Morpork ordering the Müning School to accept girl pupils. I was accepted for training. I know and have read much about clowns and the circus. But then…"

And Erika started crying, from rage and frustration,

"This Mirth-Fuhrer arrived from Ankh-Morpork and reversed the order, three weeks into our training. We girls were given twenty minutes to pack up and leave. We were abandoned to find our own ways home and told not to complain or seek to return. I was angry and hurt. I met with friends from Bad Blintz who also wished to travel to Ankh-Morpork. Their father is high in the council of the Rathaus and he sent them on an errand."

"And your two friends? Where are they?"

"We're here, missus!" squeaked a voice. "And we saw it was clowns too! Three of them!"

Joan jumped as a rat emerged from each side pocket.

"Pour some of that tea into a saucer for us, Erika?" said Cherry Blossom.

"Got any biscuits, missus?" asked Dubbin. "Hobnobs, for preference?"

Joan took a deep breath. Pet rats? No. They were _talking_. Good Morporkian,too. She knew Vetinari kept intelligent rats as spies and couriers. But she'd never heard one actually_ speak_ before.

"Call me "_ma'am_", if you please." Joan said. "Not "_missus_". It's awfully _common_, for one thing."

"We're awfully common, too!" Dubbin said, grinning. "We're common rats!"

"Dratted _un_common, if you ask me!" Joan murmured. The fact an animal could speak didn't worry her. She'd me Gaspode The Wonder Dog.

"Let me guess. The Unreal Estate. A magical accident. Yes?"

"She's clever!" Dubbin said to his sister.

"She's _female_!" Cherry Blossom corrected him.

"Mr Stippler?" Joan said.

"Yes, ma'am. I'll do something about these rats for you, just wait a tick…"

"_No_, Mr Stippler. Leave these rats _alone_. I would like to to locate a student called Dariella Morgendorffer for me. She and miss Smith-Rhodes. Bring them both here, if you please! Thank you _so_ much!"

* * *

**(1) **In reality, no Assassin cared to stay in Lancre for very long, in a place where Nanny Ogg might march up to him in the bar of the Goat and Compass, and meaningfully ask if he intended to stay there very long.

"_And if it's King Verence or my girl Queen Magrat you're after, sonny Jim, you are going to have to get through ME first!"_

Besides, Granny Weatherwax was a prime candidate for the Jonathan Teatime Award For The Most Creative Inhumation Of A Deity, Demiurge, Anthropomorphic Personification, Non-Human Entity Or Human Protected By Magic. Granny now stood in a small select group alongside Sam Vimes and Mustrum Ridcully, labelled "Practically Unkillable" and "You Run The risk of an Unstylish, Uncool and Humiliating Failure".

**(2) **Hermann had been trying to get out of Compulsory Sport by ticking the seldom-used box for "Domestic Science may be offered to male students as an alternative". He reasoned at least he'd be in the warm and dry, in a class mainly composed of girls, and he might even learn a useful skill.

**(3) **Downey had reflected afterwards that every Assassin has his or her position in the grand scheme of things, all graduate Assassins are part of the Guild family, and we have a _duty of care _to them all. In this case we have a clear duty to ensure that a Graduate who slipped through by the very skin of his teeth is rotated to a very quiet backwater, where he will hopefully succeed in not killing himself, and refrain from embarrassing us all, and may even be of some small utility occasionally. Herr von Graumunchen, I've been meaning to ask you. Is there any hidden joke concealed in the name "_Wetterarscht_"? I regret my Überwaldean is not as good as it might be…"

**(4) **In fact, Young Maroon was exploring another lucrative sideline, in that rich-but-thick students were paying him to do their geography homework. When his father found out, there would be Words.


	14. Witzkreig

_**A War In Clowndom - 5**_

_**Witzkreig**_

Dariella Morgendorffer was torn between relief and anger and was loudly expressing both. It came out as a rush of strident older-sister-made-embarrassed-in-my-own-school-by- stupid-little-kid-behaviour-of-younger-sister semi-incoherence.

Johanna Smith-Rhodes looked down at the two rats. She took time before she spoke. She crouched down, trying to get to their level so as to be less imposing and intimidating. The two rats regarded her in return, without fear or deference. It looked like a zoologist assessing an interesting natural phenomena. From both perspectives.

"_Rattus Hubsvenskannicus_. Brown." she said, at length. "End I fency one of you is a cross-breed with the Egetean Bleck."

"Howondalandian White." replied Cherry Blossom, sarcastically. "Sub-species of _Homo Sapiens_. Known for its aggressive behaviour and dominant traits. Does not mix with the Howondalandian Black. Territorial struggles inevitable where the two strains meet. I did Zoology too."**(1)**

Johanna frowned, then smiled broadly. She wasn't used to wildlife that talked back. Behind her, Joan Sanderson-Reeves and the porters tried to keep very straight faces.

"_Ja. _Thet is fair." she said. "Excuse me. I hev never encountered sentient rats before. It seems I hev much to learn!"

"Is it true you keep rats in captivity at your Zoo?" demanded Dubbin. "I smelt them when we passed by!"

Johanna decided not to mention the lab rats she bred at the Animal Management Unit.

"Thet is true." Johanna admitted. "We hev seventy-seven representetive types of rats, capybara, coypu, mice, voles, shrews, rebbits, end other related rodent species. In my defence I will say ell are well-treated, hev their medical needs looked efter, are kept free from predetors, ellowed to breed, end fed a good veried diet. Besides, if I understend you both, they are ell whet you call _keekee _end show no signs of edvenced sentience. If you wish, when time ellows I cen show you."

"Great!" Cherry Blossom said, with a hint of wariness. "A day out to the Zoo. Then straight into a cage, sorry, a _habitat_, labelled "Überwaldean Talking Rats - New Attraction"?"

Johanna appeared to consider this for just too long. Then she said,

"No, you will both be ellowed to leave efterwards! You are sentient creatures, efter ell."

"She doesn't keep orang-utans." Joan said, helpfully. "Strictly forbidden! Or the Librarian would turn up with bolt-cutters and a bad attitude."

"He doesn't _need_ bolt-cutters, Joan." Johanna corrected her. "He'd just rip the fence down with his bare paws end shout "_Ooook_!" **(2)**

"_And another thing. Do you realise not only that you're embarrassing me in front of my teachers, and it'll be years before I __**ever**__ forgive you for this, Erika Morgendorffer, you nearly got somebody __**inhumed**__ out there who'd gone out of her way to help you?"_

"Ladies?" Joan said, mildly by her standards_. "_I realise you're overjoyed to see each other again, and you've got some catching up to do, but _do_ try to keep the noise down, will you?"

"Yes, miss. Sorry, miss." Dariella said, submissively.

Johanna smiled and spoke, gently. She had learnt how to deal with girl pupils and considered this situation needed to be treated in a relaxed and informal way.

"Miss Erika Morgendorffer. Please eccept if I eddress you es _Morgendorffer Minor, _it is the conventional way of dealing with related pupils et this school, end is not meant to be dismissive or otherwise demeaning. Efter ell, my younger sister is now a pupil here. She is known es _Smith-Rhodes Minor, _so es to distinguish her from Miss Smith-Rhodes, the teacher. My colleague Miss Sanderson-Reeves hes summarised your story to me. I believe whet you hev to tell us is of great importance end must be related to the Derk Council. But first. You hev been on the road end largely sleeping rough for several days. I mean no offence, but frenkly, your clothes ere dirty end your body does not smell too fresh. Your erriving here et ell displays commendable resource end ebility end I respect thet. Before we present you to some very important people, I em sure you will wish to look your best. I propose to offer you an opportunity to bathe end change clothes. You will therefore follow me. Your friends may accompany you. I find them both intriguing end emusing! Morgendorffer Major, you may come with us. Miss Sanderson-Reeves?"

Joan stood up. "I should go to the Infirmary." she said. "I want to check on Stephanie's condition, for one thing. And if Alice has found out and come back to the Guild, she _will_ need somebody to calm her down and watch her. Igorina didn't want her getting under her feet in the operating theatre. Or whoever's feet Igorina currently happens to be standing on! I'll also get a message to the Master. I think he's up at the Palace at the moment."

The two rats hopped into Erika's pockets and followed Johanna into the Guild proper. Erika had never seen such a huge building complex before. Neither had the rats. They wondered how big the resident _keekee _population was. In a human warren this big, there _had _to be a parellel _keekee _society. There always was. Dubbin wondered if there was any talent to be scouted here. This was a place of education and learning, after all, and human traits tended to be mirrored in the _keekee_ living closest to them.

* * *

"Mr Lipwig, I was wondering if you can shed any light on the little irregularity we have noticed in Überwald?" Lord Vetinari asked, genially. "it would appear to be within your professional remit as Postmaster-General, after all!"

Moist von Lipwig sighed. It was turning out to be one of those days. He turned the little irregularity over in his mind. Mr Groat, the Assistant Postmaster, had been going spare with rage that a fundamental law of Postmanship was being flagrantly broken. Two, in fact. Miss Maccalariat, a woman whose family had originally come from Überwald and who embodied many of the fine characteristics of Überwaldean womanhood, was also going round with more of an expression of pursed-lipped disapproval than usual. **(3)**

Moist did what any half-intelligent chief executive would do in these circumstances. He delegated the answer.

"Perhaps our Head of Statistics should answer, sir." he said. "Stanley?"

Stanley Howler shuffled sideways, in the manner of a runner from a pea-plant reaching out to colonise new soil.

"Well, sir, a statistical analysis of incoming mail received from Überwald based on a mean figure derived from averaging out the previous twelve months so as to provide a valid base tends to be indicative of a statistically significant shortfall in expected delivery levels." he said. Vetinari waited, patiently. After a short pause, Stanley realised an enhanced contribution was necessary.

"Mail out of Uberwald is lower than we should expect." he said.

"Have you any idea why this is so?" the Patrician probed. People like Stanley were valuable. Getting information out of them was like pulling teeth, however.

"Sir. It is important to be aware that not all mail out of Überwald is being affected." Stanley said. "On seeking to investigate in more detail, applying more rigorous algorithms and subjecting the figures to Möghliche's Theorem **(4), **it became apparent that mail from most parts of Überwald, that which passes through the main sorting office in Bönk and proceeds by express barge up the Schlitz, is unaffected by statistical deviation. The problem lies in mail passing through the sorting office at Müning from its outlying feeder towns. Very little appears to be leaving Müning. That which we are receiving shows regrettable signs of having been tampered with. It appears to have been opened and resealed. The Postmaster has had to instruct Miss Maccalariat to order additional supplies of the tape and outer envelopes we use, with the standard apology message printed on that the postal item has been damaged in transit."

Vetinari nodded.

"Müning. And its remote outlying towns such as Bad Blintz, Bad Seltz, Bad Schmell, Bad Zeiten, Bad Sauerstoff, Bad Sprudeln, and many others. Interesting. Do we have an idea as to what is causing it? Commander Vimes?"

"Nothing yet, sir." Vimes said. I have made enquiries with Police-General March. He has assured me he is investigating, but considers his police presence there might need to be backed up by more experienced officers.**(5)** He's despatching them, but this will take time. I suspect he thinks something's going on up there."

Vetinari smiled, briefly.

"Lord Downey, your field people are usually very astute. What reports have you received from your Müning bureau?"

"I received a clacks this morning, sir." Downey said. "Which indicates the clacks is still running true. My Bureau Chief considers nothing out the ordinary is happening. The Guild of Clowns still effectively controls the city, as you might expect where they are the main industry and practically the sole employer. The Burgomeister and City Council are Clown-sponsored and as usual are keen not to make waves."

"Remind me, Lord Downey. Your Guild representative in Müning is still…?"

Downey sighed.

"Mr Wetterarscht, sir."

There was a snigger, hastily cut short.

Vetinari steepled his fingers.

"I have asked Lady Margalotta for her opinion." he said. "She is usually enviously well informed on the social and political situation in all parts of Überwald. Alas, she informs me her representative in that city is not of the highest acumen and talent. She apologised, but said she has to ensure the least able people in her service, to all of whom she feels a duty of care, are placed in positions where any potential for damage is minimised."

There was an embarrassed pause. Vimes sensed a pattern emerging.

"Do we have a consulate there, sir?" he asked.

Vetinari looked sharply at him.

"Our consul is the Right Honourable Sir Michaelmas Selachii." he admitted.

"Him? But he's a blithering idiot!" somebody exclaimed. Vetinari sighed.

"My thoughts concur with the Lady Margalotta in many respects." he said. It sounded like an admission.

"A shame Doctor Whiteface isn't here." said Mr Boggis of the Thieves' Guild. "He's _bound _to know."

"I did not invite the good doctor, as I am aware he is still seeking to assert his authority over dissident members of his own Guild." Vetinari said. "I will be meeting with him this afternoon. He may have information, especially concerning the vexing and unresolved situation concerning the renegade Brother Japester. Who we know conclusively has not re-surfaced in Quirm or Brindisi."

At this point Vetinari's personal secretary Rufus Drunknott entered. He spoke in a low voice to his master.

"An urgent message has arrived for Lord Downey, my Lord" he said. "the messenger is most insistent that he be seen immediately. It originates from Miss Sanderson-Reeves, I am given to understand."

Downey looked up, sharply.

"May I be excused, my Lord?"

Vetinari nodded.

"By all means." he said. "The acting Guild Mistress would not have sent a runner if she did not consider it an urgent matter. We will wait for you."

Downey winced. Any association of the name "Miss Sanderson-Reeves" and the phrase "Guild-Mistress" in the same sentence made him uneasy. For one thing, he knew she was a far better poisoner than he was. And she made a point of pouring the tea for everyone at Dark Council meetings**.(6)**

The rest of the invited assembly waited in silence and strained to listen to the whispered conversation. At one point Downey clearly exclaimed "On our own doorstep? And one of _Boggis's_ people?" Then Downey came to the door and asked if Mr Boggis could be excused for a few moments. Vetinari shook his head.

"I think not. If the important message is not just internal Assassins' Guild business but also affects another major Guild, then it may well be City business. I think we should _all_ hear the message."

Downey and the Guild messenger came into the Oblong Office. Then everyone heard what had happened to Stephanie Gibbet.

"I must ask you to understand that this was not an Assassin contract." Downey said. "Mr Boggis, miss Gibbet is well thought of and is a friend of the Guild. We would have had no reason to."

"Friend of the Guild." somebody murmured. "Well, _that's_ a new way of describing it! Alice Band is going to go absolutely _bursar_! "

"I never thought it was for an instant." Boggis assured Downey. "Besides, your lad says it was bloody _clowns_ what did it. If this is so, I want a word with Whiteface!"

"Killer clowns?" Vimes erupted. "Not on _my_ bloody streets!"

"How is Miss Gibbet?" asked Mrs Rosie Palm. "She's a lovely girl!"

"She's still alive." Downey said. "Barely. Matron Igorina is dealing with her. She may live, then."

"Such a shame!" sighed Rosie. "She was _such _a pretty girl!"

Vetinari looked grave.

"We have a prominent and well-regarded Thief." he said. " A rising star in the Guild. Well-liked by her pupils. A most accomplished athlete and edificeer. And one of a group of women who recently proved that female performers were capable of bringing new talent, fresh life, and original thinking to the circus disciplines. Which I witnessed first-hand."

"And we also witnessed that their performance caused unrest and schism in the Guild of Fools and Clowns." Downey added. "Indeed, an attempt on the life of one performer was made on the day itself, blatantly, in the open."

Vetinari expressed agreement.

"And today one of those women was attacked in the street. Attempted murder. A Thief, assailed by throwing knives outside the gates of the Guild of Assassins. As if to drive dissension between those two Guilds. The assailants are dressed as Clowns. Hardly inconspicuous. It also points far too neatly at the Fools' Guild, as if to draw the ire and wrath of Assassins and Thieves alike. A war between three major Guilds would not be good for this city."

Vimes said, thoughtfully,

"We'd better get the word out to all the women who were there on the day that there could be rogue Clowns out to kill them." He tried to recall names and faces. "The Assassins can look after themselves, I suppose."

"We will guard our own, Sir Samuel." Downey assured him. "_Noblesse oblige_." Although an undisclosed thought was prompting him that if any rogue Clown wanted to take a shot at Joan Sanderson-Reeves, it could be _very _regrettable… obviously the Guild would exact vengeance afterwards. He filed the thought away for consideration later.

"Hold on. Three of them work for the Fools' Guild, don't they? They'd be obvious soft targets. I'll tip off Jack. He might be a bastard, but he's got copper instincts."

Captain Jack Clapstick headed the Fools' Guild internal police. Vimes knew he took a very dim view of Clowns trying to kill each other, especially in the performance arena. Jack would not relax his opinion were it to be a female guild member who was under such attack. In his way he was a fair and impartial upholder of Guild law under properly constituted authority. Which was Doctor Whiteface.

" I concur. Drumknott, take a message for Doctor Whiteface, would you? That he is advised to take pro-active steps to ensure the personal safety of Miss Dolores Estefaña Chiliconcarne y Fajitas y Cuidado de las Llamas de Gutierrez, mrs Deborah McGee, sundry Dorises, and perhaps also Miss Drapes, as I am aware objections were raised to a woman being appointed to the Council of Mirth. He is to note there is no great rush in implementing such precautions. Thank you."

Boggis was writing a hasty message. Vetinari politely inquired.

"Just making sure, sir. I want two big good lads looking after Betty. Anyone attacks her, they go through her bodyguards _first."_

"Ah, the Ringmistress on the day." the Patrician said. "And your Economics teacher. She has a talent for keeping money in circulation! Drumknott, as a courtesy, see Mr Boggis's message is conveyed to the Thieves' Guild, if you would? "

Vetinari paused.

"I believe we have discussed the Müning situation as far as we can, for now." he said. Let us now move on to other City business. We can return to the Clowning issue as new information reaches us. Commander Vimes. I hear there was an incident at Hobson's Livery Stable earlier this morning? My information is that a goodly proportion of its resident rats all decided to leave at once, causing consternation in neighbouring streets."

"That is so, sir". Vimes said, and fell back on the policeman's emergency lifebelt. "Inquiries are proceeding."

"Many of those rats chose to invade a meeting of the Womens' Insistitute".**(7)** Vetinari continued, remorselessly. "Causing pandemonium. All the cakes were eaten and jars of jams and preserves were broken open and devoured. Reports were made of a rat-piper in the vicinity. Or at least, a rat harmonica-player. Has she been apprehended? You know my views concerning rat-pipers in this city."

Vimes sighed. It was one of those days.

* * *

Johanna led her small party up a maze of stairs and corridors.

"Es we ere pessing your dorm, Morgendorffer Major, I would like it if you were to find your sister a clean end fitting school uniform, in epproximately her size. Something to wear while her clothes are being weshed end repaired. Bring it to my epartment. Thenk you." she said. They walked on.

"It will be easier if you use my beth." she said. "There is no rush. A message hes been sent to the Guild Master esking him to return from the Pelece to see you. If he cennot, I will take you to the Pelece. I will wait outside the bethroom. If you are hungry, there is some basic food in my kitchen."

Johanna generally left her door unlocked. She could trust most of her students. As she wasn't an idiot, she checked that the almost imperceptible hair was still there, between door and frame; had anyone entered in her absence, it would have been disturbed. It was intact. She gestured Erika to go in first, and followed.

"I will provide eppropriete refreshments to your two friends." Johanna said. For now, the bethroom is through there. Put ell your clothes into the laundry beg and I will see to it they are dealt with. Hev you eny veluables in the pockets? Drop them on the table. They will be safe…"

Erika passed over her mouth organ and a pocket full of mixed coin. For some reason the rats did not want to leave her pockets. They seemed frightened…

"What's wrong?" she asked, trying to extricate a roll of dollar bills from underneath Cherry Blossom, who was gripping the pocket lining with teeth and all four sets of paws.

"Can't you _smell_ them?" the rat hissed.

"Who?"

"Oh. You can't. You're _human_…"

Then the scratching and shuffling noises in the background resolved themselves as two large dogs, emerging from sleep and trotting to welcome their mistress. Two _very_ large dogs. Bigger than anything Erika had encountered before. And the most common breed in her homeland was the Lipzwiger.

"_Bone Rat!" _swore Dubbin, who raced for safety, climbing the wall swiftly above canine reach, Cherry Blossom quickly following.

The two dogs interestedly followed.

"_Kaffee! Crème! Bly!" _Johanna shouted_. "Sjit!" _

The two dogs obediently stopped and sat, tongues lolling and panting slightly. Johanna patted and praised.

"You may come down. It is quite safe." she said. "My dogs were bred for _much_ bigger game. You are just a new thing they ere curious ebout. Besides, they respond to my command end if I say to them to leave something be, they obey. They ere elso gentle. I saw them with a kitten once. Small cets hev no fear, end this one they befriended. They come to the zoo with me. They hev seen many, many, enimels, end they know to behave around them."

Dubbin and Cherry Blossom came reluctantly down to earth. Crème, the paler-coloured lion dog, made to take a curious sniff.

"STAY!" shouted Cherry Blossom. Crème ignored her. The rat looked puzzled.

"That's never happened before!" she said, consternated. "Normally dogs respond to the word!"

Johanna laughed.

"They ere not Morporkian dogs!" she said. "The words of commend they respond to ere in _Vondalaans_. Try "_BLY_!" End "SIT!" is much the same in both lengueges."

While Erika was bathing, Johanna explained about Howondalandian Lion Dogs. Dariella returned with spare clothes. She stayed to pet both dogs and to get to know the rats.

"How are the Clan?" Dariella asked. "It's been ages since I was last at home!"

"Doing well, thriving!" said Dubbin. "Sardines is getting on, and he's not as nimble on his feet as he was, but his family are doing more and more of the stage-school choreography dancing thing. Lionel and Wayne and Kylie would say "hi" if they were here!"

"Is your father still Clan leader?" she asked. Dubbin grinned.

"Darktan? The only thing that'll ever stop him being Clan leader is the Bone Rat!"

Johanna listened. She'd heard vague rumours about a town in Überwald where Humans and Rats had come to a truce and were working together. But it had all sounded so incredible that nobody believed it. Dariella knew better than to talk about it, as nobody would believe her. She had been quite affronted that the other girls in her dorm had laughed at her for telling tall stories. Besides, even other Überwaldeans thought everywhere past Müning was impossibly remote, strange, and full of rural idiots.

"So. You ell came out of Enkh-Morpork originally. You were ell Awoken by some sort of megical eccident on the Unreal Estate. _Ja_, thet makes sense. End the great leader Hemnpork was persuaded by Dangerous Beans end Peaches, whom you revere es living saints, to lead you on your exodus to a plece where rets could live in peace and prosperity, free from fear. You were aided by a human, the Stupid-Looking-Kid, end…someone… you only refer to es Maurice."

Cherry Blossom shuffled.

"It all sort of gets a bit _embarrassing_, Miss, when it comes to Maurice." she admitted. Johanna nodded.

"End Maurice wes a scoundrel, but one whose grifting tricks enabled you to live, end who taught you ebout how the world works." she said. "_Ja. _I heve en emberressing oncle like thet.**(8) **Come to think of it, Oncle Baal once told me he'd heard strange stories ebout a cet celled Maurice who wes a _legend_ among grifters end confidence tricksters. Baal said he wished he'd met a cet like thet. Then egain, my oncle Baal made money out of persuading gullible people thet Belgrogs existed."

"Don't they?" Dubbin asked.

"Well, you cen't rule it out." Johanna admitted. "End I know a wizard who'd quite like to telk to you. Ponder, thet is, Professor Stibbons, hes been charged with cleaning up the Unreal Estate end meking it safe for people to live on. _Ell_ people, including rets." she swiftly amended.

"That's what Darktan sent us here to find out, miss." said Cherry Blossom. "We're safe now. But it bothers him that there are likely to be others. New rats who Awoke the way our parents and grandparents did. From eating stuff thrown away on the Unreal Estate. When we came of age, he asked if we'd come back here as, you know, a _mission. _To find those new rats, who must be as confused as our parents were. To tell them what's going on and why, and either lead them to the Island, or help them make sense of it here. Oh, and to look after Dozy and see she came to no harm."

"End Dozy is Erika?" Johanna said. "_Ja, _I see. The Island is your word for Bad Blintz, _yesno_?"

"You got her here safely". said Dariella. "Thank you."

"A rat's gotta do what a rat's gotta do." said Dubbin. "Besides, it's implicit in the Agreement. You're from the Island, Rat or Human, we look out for each other."

"And Dad, he told us one minute he was eating from a tin of boot polish, the next, he was cogniting. He said the Awakening was quite a shock. Some of the older ones died of it!" Cherry Blossom added.

"He took his name from the boot polish?" Johanna asked. "Thet possibly explains your names?"

"Family naming tradition, miss!" said Dubbin. "Our sister back on the Island is called Kiwi. Then there are the twins, Gaiter and Supple. And our brother Hobley."**(9)**

Then the Dark Clerk arrived. Dark Clerks were mainly graduate Assassins who worked for the City. Johanna welcomed her warmly.

"How is life et the Pelece, Sharon?" she asked. "Sit down. Push the dogs eway, if they're a nuisence. Tea? Coffee?"

Sharon Higgins, from somewhere underneath two large dogs who were delighted to see an old friend, grinned.

"Deadly boring, until today, Johanna." she said. "In the vernacular, the manure has made contact with the clacks tower. His Lordship wants me to advise you a meeting of selected City Council advisors has been convened for two o'clock. In the circumstances, he does not want to risk your guests being out in the street for even the shortest distance, even escorted by Assassins, so he wants it here, in the Master's Office. He requests you bring the young ladies from Müning, and the, er, _other _visitors, to tell their stories. And if the young lady from Überwald were to refrain from anything that might be mistaken for rat-piping, which is an imprisonable offence in this city, his lordship would be very much obliged."

* * *

Joan Sanderson-Reeves found Alice Band sitting in the waiting room adjacent to Matron Igorina's surgery. She was relieved that Alice did not apparently appear to have gone bursar. But she was sitting, un-naturally calm, looking into nothing in the direction of the closed surgery door. Another patient, a student Assassin, was sitting as far away as he could get, looking pale and uncomfortable and holding his right hand in a blood-stained towel. Any discomfort from his wound, however, was outweighed by sharing the room with Alice in her current state of mind.

"She's in the best possible hands, Alice." Joan said, without preamble. She took a deep breath and sat down next to her old friend.

"The _best_. If _anyone_ can save her life, it's Igorina. That's what the Guild employs her for!"

Alice acknowledged her with the merest nod. Her eyes returned to the surgery door. Joan sighed. She normally abhorred excessive physical contact as jolly sticky, uncomfortable and distasteful. But just sometimes….

She put a motherly , or at least maiden-auntly, arm around Alice's shoulders and tried a hug. Alice felt as if she were made of rock.

Joan sighed again and looked around the bare, stark, room. There were the usual sorts of notices on the wall. Concerning things like the imperative need to cover your mouth when sneezing, reminders that in an environment shared by thousands of people, infections spread rapidly. Therefore wash your hands in soap and water after visiting the privy. Being Igorina, whose public health messages were pretty frank and direct, a line or two added _This especially means males! I know you think you know where it's been and that this excuses you from washing afterwards. Well, you are utterly wrong! WASH YOUR HANDS!_

Another notice, presumably aimed at older male pupils and graduate Assassins, discreetly advertised opening times at the Lady Sybil's clinics for Social Diseases, Anti-social Diseases, and Frankly Downright Embarrassing Diseases. An Igorina note added _If you can't face taking it to me, for goodness' sake take it to __**somebody**__, as these things do not go away on their own. Do not die of shyness. Medical professionals have seen it all, and then some. We do not make moral judgements. And in extremis, I can graft on a new one._

Joan smiled. She noted that in accordance with the unwritten law of doctors' waiting rooms everywhere, a central table was piled high with dog-eared and out of date copies of almost-popular magazines, like _What Coach_? , _Tepidity, The Lady's Home Companion, Wotcher!, _and_ Oh, Alright, I Suppose. _**(10)**

Joan removed her arm. She tried a different tack to get Alice's mind off it.

"Mr Bentley!" she said, loudly. The injured student jumped. On top of an unexploded Miss Band, this was _all_ he needed.

"Am I to correctly deduce that you have come directly from Madame Deux-Epée's Swords class?"

Bentley nodded, shuddering slightly.

"How many fingers, Mr Bentley?" Joan inquired, remorselessly.

"Two, ma'am. And a half."

"Care to tell me how it happened?"

"Well, ma'am. We were just moving on from the old wooden practice swords. To _real_ ones. With blades. And. Erm. I was steadying the scabbard with my left hand to make it easier to draw with my right. And. Er."

"And you pulled the sword up and out. Through a hand that you _thought_ was holding the scabbard. Did you collect all the fingers?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Makes it easier for Igorina. But you've not done a damn thing about stemming the flow of blood, have you?"

Joan glared at him.

"Miss Band, we both did the Emergency Field Medicine advanced course. Joan said, briskly. "Matron Igorina is currently delayed by an emergency and may be some time. Let us ensure her next patient does not allow himself to bleed to death before she gets to see him!"

Alice shook herself back into the moment.

"Of course, miss Sanderson-Reeves. I'm sorry. I should have thought on."

"You had a lot on your mind, m'dear." Joan said. "No blame. Let's do what we can, shall we?"

Glad she'd found something to occupy Alice, Joan set to work. Between them they performed elementary first aid on the injured pupil, Joan talking Alice through the procedure.

Then Igorina came to the door of the surgery. Both women were not reassured by the fact her white surgical gown and apron were heavily stained with red. She pulled down her mask.

"Let me guess." she said. "Swords training? Got all the fingers? Good. Come this way."

She led Bentley to the door.

"Recent amputation. Simple reattachment." she said. "Routine stuff, really. Alice, Joan. We can talk while I'm working."

Igorina worked with Igor speed and accuracy. She realigned, set, stitched, applied nameless salves to restore health and promote growth, and eventually said

"There. No harm done. Flex! Good." She poked a pin into various fingertips.

"Ow!" said Bentley.

"Neural pathways restored. Good. I'll write you a note excusing you from swords and Edificeering for a week. Do not place undue pressure on the fingertips for at least four days. I do not want to see you back here!"

"Just Swords, edificeering and sports, miss?" Bentley asked, angling for more.

"You're right-handed, aren't you, laddie?" said Joan, meaningfully. "You can still hold a pen and attend regular classes. Miss Band can take it on board you aren't allowed Edificeering for seven days. Anything else, you turn up on time for!"

Bentley departed, gratefully. The door closed behind him.

"How's Steffi?" Alice asked. Igorina patted her arm.

"She's stable. Almost out of danger. Look, she lost a great deal of blood. I'm glad the people who found her had the sense to leave the knife in. if they'd pulled it out of the wound thinking they were doing the right thing, it would have caused a lot more damage on the way out. A _lot_. Uncontrollable internal bleeding, for one thing. As it was, I only just got to her in time. Come with me."

Steffi was lying on her side in bed, breathing regularly but shallowly. She was, Alice noted with some horror, very, very, pale.

Igorina prevented her moving to the bed.

"I do not want the wounds to reopen" she said, softly. "That thick leather jacket absorbed a lot of the impact, by the way. If the blade had penetrated to the hilt, she would be dead. As it was, her right lung collapsed. The pulmonary artery was nicked and she lost a lot of blood. A lot. I managed to retrieve, clean and recycle some of the blood. Filtering and cleaning blood in these circumstances is essential, as it could have picked up impurities. I reinflated the lung - this has to be done so very carefully - and repaired the torn artery and chest wall. I have boosted her blood with artificial plasma, so the heart has something to pump. The bones broken by the knife have been restored and I have performed a degree of cosmetic surgery on the external wound. But she remains very ill and needs blood."

"Can you give it her?" Alice asked. "Can you replicate it?"

Igorina shook her head.

"No. Blood is special. The old method was to nurse the patient over some months and give her the sort of foods that encourage the body to make more blood quickly. The body knows what is needed and will work overtime to make new blood to replace the loss. But she needs something more. Alice, Joan, may I take blood samples from both of you?"

"Transfusion?" Joan asked. "But isn't that a bit hit-and-miss?"

"It has been attempted before, yes." Igorina said. "A healthy person is linked to the sick one by a canulated tube allowing blood to flow directly from their veins into the veins of others. This is heroic last-resort remedy. Sometimes the patient visibly thrives and lives, but sometimes they sicken and die. Igor science has been baffled as to why. But I believe we know now. May I take and examine blood from both of you?"

Igorina took blood smears from both and checked them under a microscope. She subjected them to several baffling-looking tests. Finally she said:

"Joan, would you give Stephanie some of your blood? The transfusion process is safe, and I will take no more than a pint and a half. Anything more would be dangerous to you. You will feel a little light-headed and dizzy afterwards, but your body will make up the shortfall within a fortnight."

"She needs more!" Alice said. "however much she needs, I'll give it. I _want_ to give it!"

Igorina looked at Alice with sad sympathetic eyes.

"_No, _Alice." she said. "Your blood is wrong. It would poison her. It would clot in her veins and precipitate a fatal cardiac arrest. I know you love Stephanie and you'd willingly do anything for her. But this cannot be done. Listen to me. Not all blood can be mixed. We have identified four different strains which are randomly distributed among people. Some can be safely mixed. Others are fatally incompatible. Joan, your blood can safely go into Stephanie. Alice - yours cannot."

They returned to Steffi's bedside, Igorina explaining how research Igors had got the clues about blood typing and blood groups.

"There is an old Vampire lore." she said. "About not feeding from more than one person at a time. Apparently if a vampire is greedy and drains the blood of two separate humans in the same feeding, that vampire suffers inexplicable pain and agony. The species calls it "vampire indigestion". Igors who work for old-time vampires have noticed this happens as often as not in their Marsters. The vampires don't know why this happens sometimes, but not in _every_ case. So they play safe. One feed, one human. Research Igors looking into the Zlobenian roulette game of the blood transfusion wondered if this offered a clue as to why some thrive, and some sicken further. We observed, we tested, and now we know about blood types. This makes blood transfusions less dangerous if we transfuse like into like. Joan, will you roll a sleeve up? Thank you. Sit down, make yourself comfortable. It will only take about fifteen minutes. When I judge enough blood has passed out of you, I will close the canula and stem the wound in your arm. A hot sweet cup of tea is mandated afterwards, by the way. And a biscuit, a plain digestive. Nobody knows why this is so, but it makes the transfusee feel better."

Joan sat, endured a brief _ouch! _as the needle penetrated her vein, and interestedly observed her own blood flowing out of her and into Steffi. The only Assassin she knew with a blood phobia had been that absurd little man, Wetterarscht. Apparently the Guild had packed him off, as an embarrassment, to some remote dead-end in Überwald, hadn't it, where he'd be out of sight and out of mind… she was jolly surprised he'd graduated, to be honest. She couldn't think of a less likely licenced Assassin… if the sight of blood made you queasy, then you had no business being an Assassin.

"This is banned in some countries." Igorina remarked, as she monitored the flow. "And by some religions. The Omnians consider it an abomination before their God. Constable Visit of the Watch puts out pamphlets declaring that any true Witness of the word of Om should have no truck with this."

She shook her head.

"And one of the new Igors at the Lady Sybil was deported from Rimwards Howondaland for breaking their absurd racial laws. Blood is blood, if it is correctly typed. Their secret police brought charges when he transfused the blood of a black-skinned human into a white-skinned one, as if that matters!"

"It does in Rimwards Howondaland." Joan observed. "Crazy country. At least, contrary to the song, we _have_ met a nice White Howondalandian!"

"Most of the time." agreed Alice.

Igorina deftly pinched off the canula.

"No more, Joan." she said. "Stephanie needs it, but not at the risk of your health!"

"It's brought the colour back to her cheeks, anyway…oh, _look_!"

Steffi's eyes flickered open. They took in the hospital setting and the group around her.

"Don't try to talk too much." Igorina advised her, as she dismantled the transfusion kit. "You've just had a near-Death experience!"

"Alice?" Steffi said. Alice Band dashed forward and took her lover's hand. Her eyes were moist.

"Whoever did this to you," Alice vowed, "is _mine_."

Steffi grinned, weakly.

"I'm more worried about my jacket, to be honest." she whispered. "Igorina, did it survive alright? Leather like that cost me top dollar. Now there's a bloody great hole in it!"

Igorina shook her head.

"I regret I could not save the jacket." she said. "But it saved _you, _Stephanie Gibbet!"

"Steffi, I will _buy_ you a new leather jacket." Alice said, tears streaming down her face. "The moment you're up and walking again!"

"Welcome back to life, m'dear!" Joan said, rolling her sleeve down. She felt slightly giddy and wobbly. "Igorina, you said something concerning hot sweet tea and a digestive biscuit?"

* * *

**(1) **Or as the humans at the Bad Blintz school put it, History, Politics and Sociology. The Rat pupils had a different perspective.

**(2) **Orang-utan for _Let my people go! _Johanna could speak passable Orang-Utan and had an arrangement with the Librarian concerning the care and welfare of Great Apes. This boiled down to (i) "OOOK!" - "_**no orang utans!" **_and (ii) "Oooook-a-ook!" - "Chimpanzees and gorillas - yes. They thrive on it, as long as the bananas keep coming." and (iii) "Ooook!" - "did I mention no orangs? I don't want to strain our friendship here!"

**(3) **The Makkalariat family of Überwald was respected for its administrative ability, its attention to detail, its adherence to established order and moral standards, and for keeping unspeakable handkerchiefs up its sleeves. (In the German translations of Discworld books, the name is transliterated straight as _**Makkalariat**_.)

**(4) **Möghliche's Theorem : states if the numbers appear to add up, it's probably right.

**(5) **What he had said to Vimes was: "Sam, you've got Colon and Nobbs, ja? And you give them light undemanding duties in places where they can't do any harm and they're out of the way and not impeding anything important? Well, I posted mine to Müning." Vimes had understood, immediately. Between police chiefs, some things require little explaining.

**(6) **Lady T'Malia usually suggested Joan poured the tea. She pointed out that it was best somebody else did this because of the ring thing. And Joan doesn't wear any rings.

**(7) **Like the Womens' Institute, only louder, and they don't go away.

**(8) **For more about Oncle Baal (Balthazar Smith-Rhodes, a.k.a. Howondaland Smith, Balgrog-Hunter) see my story _**The Black Sheep.**_

**(9) **Gaiter and Supple are listed in the Compleat Ankh-Morpork City Guide as boot polish makers. Mrs Hobley manufactures boot and shoelaces.

**(10) **Joan had once asked Igorina. Who had replied, off-hand, that she had an arrangement with the nearby newsagent, who'd only have to throw away old out-of-date unsold copies. Besides, if she were to put anything _interesting_ out in the waiting room, it'd only get pinched.


	15. Various meetings

_**A War In Clowndom - 6**_

_In which battle plans are made by both sides. The squeamish and those prone to bad dreams may look for another fic to read now, as killer clowns and Assassins with a grudge may prove distressing. _

Hermann Meyer Wetterarscht awoke with a groan. His head was gonging. It felt like the worst, sickest, hangover ever. He groaned again. He remembered the mumsy, maternal, Doctor Bellamy, in between her concernedly asking if he thought Assassination was _right_ for him as a career choice, explaining how the aftermath of a non-lethal dose of ether was nausea, headache, sickness and a tendency to…

He rolled over and threw up.

"Ja." a older, drier, voice said, dispassionately. "That was how it was for me, too."

The voice had spoken in Morporkian, with an Überwaldean accent. Wetterarscht forced himself to roll more-or-less up right, taking in the gloomy dank cell and the smells of vomit and rotting wood. He propped himself up on his elbows and winced.

When you have been doped with ether, abducted, stripped of all weapons, and left to awaken with a foul headache, possibly the last thing you'd care to open your eyes to is a battered and unamused looking clown. This clown was dressed in what had started out as white, with minimal red and black fluffy buttons, and the usual massively large comedy shoes. His facial makeup was minimal, with black eyes, a painted on smiley mouth, and was done in slightly off-colour white with a painted-on diamond tear in the corner of one eye.

"Ja." said the voice. "I am Professor Auguste. Until recently, I was Fuhrer of the Müning Guild of Clowns and Fools. Second only to Doctor Whiteface in Ankh-Morpork. Now I am usurped, it appears."

Wetterarscht listened. He knew Auguste, from a distance, and had met him on formal occasions. And now they were in a cell together. And they weren't alone…

"You of course are the local Assassin." Auguste said. "It appears we are now all in woe together. You of course know Herr Vogel, and Herr Wespemann."

The two other occupants of the cell nodded at Wetterarscht. he recognised them: one was a City Councillor and the other was deputy head of the local Guild of Merchants.

"They both spoke against the new regime." Auguste said. "When the usurper arrived from Ankh-Morpork and agitated for rebellion, he carried the Guild with him. I spoke against and said that even though we were unhappy at the changes, we should institute them as they come from the legitimate authority, the _only_ legitimate authority, that of Doctor Whiteface and the Council of Mirth. Brother Japester…. Or the _Jokemeister, _as he now styles himself - offered me high place in the new regime if I would accept him as Fuhrer. Of course I refused. He said opponents of the New Order should be _concentrated _together where they could not cause trouble. Herr Vogel is also Postmaster here. He refused to allow them to intercept and read outgoing and incoming mail. He also demanded the city council show some spine and fight the changes. So he arrived here too."

"They're intercepting the mail." Wetterarscht said, gloomily. "And the Clacks?"

"No." Vogel said. "Close the Clacks and Vetinari's man, the cunning Lipzwiger, will be tasked with finding out. Vetinari places great importance on the Clacks lines. Stoneface Vimes himself, once he senses crime, will also investigate using his resources. We are only a local branch line feeding into the Trunk system at Bönk. That makes it easier for them to monitor incoming messages and censor or fake outgoing ones. "

Wetterarscht remembered the code books kept in plain sight on his desk. He groaned again. How was he going to explain this to Lord Downey or the QCIC? Or the Dark Clerks?

"Ja, Herr Wetterarscht. Even now Filigree Street will be receiving reassuring "_all is normal, nothing to report_" messages apparently signed and coded by you." Auguste said, sadly. "But no blame attaches. They were very thorough in their planning and swift in their execution."

"Herr Wetterarscht." Vogel said, in an excited low voice. "I understand your Guild teaches lock picking and escape techniques?"

Wetterarscht realised, with a guilty start, everyone was looking at him. He also realised he'd been carefully stripped of all weapons and devices. He also remembered standing in front of a class trying to suppress its giggles, next to a fuming Miss Band, as he unsuccessfully tried to trigger a simple Pickin and Turner mechanism.

"Well, they've taken all my lockpicks and things…"

Auguste leant over. He whispered "_All _of them, Herr Wetterarscht? Have you checked your boot heels?"

* * *

Erika was escorted up the main stairs of the Guild, drawing interest from pupils who didn't recognise the new girl, and wondered why she was being called to the Master's Office. There'd been a lot of coming and going in the last hour or so; some _very_ important people had arrived and had swiftly been ushered to the Master. People were curious…

Johanna Smith-Rhodes coldly glared at them.

"Do you not hev clesses to ettend?" she inquired. "Homework to prepare? Things to _do_? If you hev free time, I hev need of volunteers for the Zoo. Elephant cages to clean. The Ecerian Skunks currently require volunteers to clean their hebitet."

The idle-minded bystanders took the hint, and cleared off quickly before Johanna started selecting volunteers for a working party.

The Master's Office was guarded by several full Assassins and Dark Clerks, who regarded the newcomers with active interest.

"We are expected." Johanna said. "Myself and these…two…students."

A guard knocked on the door and briefly conferred with someone inside. Rufus Drumknott came to the door. He smiled briefly at Johanna.

"Miss Smith-Rhodes and our fo.. _two_ guests, my Lords." he said.

"Capital. Bring them in." a voice said. Lord Vetinari's voice was not loud, but it carried. The doorway guard stepped courteously aside. Dariella shot her sister a killing look that said _do not dare embarrass me. _

Johanna shepherded them in, standing behind them. She had briefed both girls that it wasn't _only _the full Dark Council, there would be even more important people there.

"Ell for the good, Morgendorrfer Major! " she had said. "You do not normally encounter such people so early in your career. Make a good impression here, end they will _remember_. Consider yourself privileged!"

Twelve of the thirteen selected members of the Dark Council were seated around the large conference table. The tea, coffee and biscuit selection on a trolley to one side added a homely touch. Johanna noted there were no almond slices, as guests were present. One of whom was already making an inroad into the biscuits. Standing, or sitting in a second tier of chairs behind the conference table, were other City dignitaries, some of whom were visibly not at ease at being in the heart of the Guild of Assassins. Although this did not deter Arch-Chancellor Ridcully of Unseen University from attacking the biscuit selection.**(1)**

She smiled warmly at Professor Ponder Stibbons, who smiled back. These days Ponder was pretty much at ease in the company of Assassins. **(2) **Well, he'd made it all the way to Dean and Vice-Chancellor. His attendance at City council meetings was a given.

Mr Boggis of the Thieves, a visibly-older looking Doctor Whiteface of the Fools, Commander Vimes - and Lady Sybil - Mrs Rosie Palm, Queen Molly of the Beggars, Mrs Battye of the Prostitutes' Guild, Bishop Mume of the Anoian Church, Lady Roberta Meserole, The Postmaster-General and the Chairman of the Royal Bank, **(3), **Scrote Jones of the Gamblers' Guild, and others….

Lord Downey occupied his usual place at the head of the table. But seated next to him, studying the two girls with keen attention, was the spare severe figure of Lord Vetinari. Rufus Drumknott, his door keeping duty over for the moment, stepped inobtrusively to a position behind and to one side of the Patrician, a tabletop of files within reach.

"I hev brought the young ladies, es instructed, my Lords." Johanna said. "Shell I now withdraw?"

"Please remain, miss Smith-Rhodes." Vetinari said. "Your skills have been of use to me before and I know you to be capable and trustworthy. By the way, is it true that there is now a Fools' Guild branch in Rimwards Howondaland?"

_He's asking _**me**_, and not Doctor Whiteface? _she wondered. _No, remember, Johanna. He does these things to get people off guard and to listen for what is not being said. _

"Ja. From communications from Home, I understend the Guild of Fools hes opened a training school effiliated to the University et Witwatersrand. I em informed thet emigrent Clowns from Enkh-Morpork, Quirm end Überwald were collaborating in its esteblishment."

"And how do your people respond to such an unsolicited gift of great entertainment potential?" Vetinari continued.

"You should understend, my Lord, thet my people left the Central Continent for Howondaland five hundred years ago." Johanna said, very carefully. "In meny weys, we perpetuate the culturel velues of the Sto States es they were five centuries ego. Clowning is therefore new end novel to them end consequently popular. Perheps thet is the reason why clowns emigrated. To find a new end eppreciative audience."

Vetinari nodded. He ignored several stifled sniggers.

"Thank you, Miss Smith-Rhodes. I understand from informal discussions with Miss Sanderson-Reeves that these two young ladies can offer insight into a matter of some concern. Please hasten to introduce them both to me?"

Johanna made the introductions, and stood back as Dariella and Erika offered their respective accounts concerning strange events in Überwald. Vetinari listened attentively, pausing only to ask the occasional question.

When Erika had finished, Vetinari steepled his fingers.

"Commander Vimes, please be so good as to explain to the young lady my opinions concerning rat-piping." he said. "Or in this case, rat harmonica-playing."

"I can play flute too, sir." Erika said, uncertainly. "Only I didn't have one on me. I had to make do with what I had."

The stone-faced man in the helmet and breastplate scowled at her. Erika felt a sudden damp dread.

"It's very simple." he said. "In this city, you don't do it. It's on a special list, along with mime-artistry and modern art."

"Oh." Erika said, crestfallen. "I signed up for the mime course at the Müning School"

This was evidently the wrong thing to say. Vimes shook his head, sadly.

"Are you sure you don't do abstract interpretative modern art in your spare time?" he asked. "Only, you've just confessed to two out of three there. In front of witnesses, some of whom , I'm forced to say, count as reliable."

He looked at the expression on Erika's face, and then grinned. In the background, a dispute appeared to be going on.

"_There's nothing wrong with abstract interpretative modern art!" _a female voice hissed, angrily. "_Only reactionary narrow-minded old Fascists…"_

"_ShutupshutupshutUP!" _another voice hissed back. Vetinari smiled.

"We will get to you in due course, Ms. Pouter." he said, without anger or censure. "And yes, I am in some respects a reactionary old Fascist. It goes, somewhat inescapably, with the job description of Patrician and Tyrant."

Erika felt herself relaxing. She dimly remembered her sister saying in a letter _Everything here is a test. And the hardest tests happen when you don't realise till afterwards that you've been tested. _She wondered if the scary-looking Commander Vimes and the impassive Lord Vetinari were testing her now for some obscure reason, perhaps to test how reliable she was. And she thought she knew who the opinionated Ms Pouter was… she read the newspapers too, to find out what she could about the big wide world. And the _SudUberwaldeanZeitung_ had its arts and culture pages… Erika breathed in deeply, and forced calm into her voice.

"I'm afraid not, sir. Although Ms. Pouter could perhaps teach me."

Vimes suddenly laughed. The man on Vetinari's left, the one who looked like a kindly old village priest, who had remained silent and attentive, laughed with him.

"That was worthy of your borrowed school uniform!" he said, appreciatively. "Perhaps, Miss Morgendorffer Minor, we should consider enrolling you in this school? After all, you braved death and danger and showed considerable resource to reach this City. This school values such skills!"

"I thank you, sir." Erika said, politely. "But my life's dream was to train with the Clowns and Fools and to perform in public to entertain people." She gulped, to keep her anger in check. She was suddenly eleven-going-on-twelve again. "I was so happy when the Guild opened its doors to girls. I enrolled wishing to train and learn. Then this new clown arrived and _threw out the girls!" _

Even as the anger and frustration and resentment welled up, she knew enough to hold it in check; becoming a silly little girl in front of all these important people would be embarrassing. But the wailing petulant cry of _It's not fair! _hung unseen on the air. She felt Miss Smith Rhodes place a comforting and restraining hand on her shoulder; Dariella took her hand consolingly.

"_You are doing very well". _she heard the Howondalandian woman whisper in her ear. She was speaking in Überwaldean. _"I feel for you and understand your pain. I wish my pupils could restrain deep emotion as well as you. But remember, a large part of clowning is acting. Carry on acting the part of a serious young girl who is feeling no hurt."_

"Fraulein Smith-Rhodes?" Vetinari said, reminding her he had studied languages at the Guild school, and in all probability had heard and understood. _He'd have learnt the language perfectly from Margolotta, _she thought.

"A few words of reassurance, my Lord." Johanna said. "Elthough she has done _very_ well, end is not intimidated by being in this company!"

"And she took that chiselling tight-fisted bastard Hobson for nearly sixty dollars." Vimes observed, grinning.

"Well, he at first only offered eight!" Erika said. "I had to do _something_ to get his price up!"

"And you know that horse is going to go back on sale for ninety-five? Without the tack?" Vimes asked. Erika shrugged.

"We all have to make a living." she said. "I wished for a fair price. Sir, I did not know rat-piping was illegal in this city."

"I will use my discretion and overlook this matter." Vetinari said. "Provided there is no repetition. And _especially_ if you can assure me somebody called Maurice was not involved? I had cause to exile certain people some years ago. They remain exiled from this city."

Erika smiled. "Maurice has long since moved on, sir. He has visited Bad Blintz occasionally. Just to check everybody's alright."

Vetinari nodded.

"Are there any more questions for the young lady? Ah, Mrs Palm?"

A richly dressed and matronly lady stepped forwards. Everything about her shouted wealth and prosperity and success.

"If I may, Havelock. My dear child, I heard the name Dolores Smother mentioned? That interests me. Please tell me that part of the story again."

Erika went back over her near-imprisonment at the inn and what she'd overheard. As Johanna had instructed her, she left her companion rats out of it for the moment. She saw Mrs Palm frown and Commander Vimes scowl.

"Sir, if that stretch of the Überwald road is in _our_ jurisdiction…" Vimes said, cut off when Vetinari shook his head.

Mrs Palm nodded, understanding.

"I see!" she said, taking a deep breath. "You discovered the window was open, you broke back into the inn, retrieved your clothing and possessions, and stole… _borrowed_… a horse."

"Bloody good Thiefcraft!" a short plump man in a brown bowler hat said, approvingly. "Want to study at _our_ school, young lady? You're a bloody _natural_!"

Mrs Palm smiled.

"I'm so glad you're safe." she said. "That name is known to me. I had cause to expel Dolores Smother from the Guild for several matters. One involved a complaint about demarcation rights from Mr Boggis here, of the Guild of Thieves. Mrs Smother broke many of the rules of… _hospitality_… that my Guild follows. She made a practice of robbing and mis-treating her clients. We do not do that. I have been receiving reports that she has been practicing as an unlicensed and illegal operator for some time now. And please believe me, while mine is necessarily a broad-minded and inclusive profession with regard to the type of…_hospitality_… we provide, there is one practice we do _not_ touch under _any_ circumstances."

She paused, as if uncertain of what she could say to a very young girl. Erika helped her out.

"If you mean _seamstressing_, madam, I have an idea as to what the practice entails. Although only second-hand knowledge, of course!"

"I should hope so!" Mrs Palm replied. "Well, my Guild only recruits adult women over the age of sixteen, preferably a little older. We do _not _coerce or traffic in unwilling, forced, bodies. We take only willing volunteers who are adult enough to know what the life entails and who are strong enough to deal with it. Where we hear of children being enslaved… well, that makes us _concerned_. Normally we police our own Guild, but just now and again we share information with Commander Vimes of the City Watch, and work together. I do consider it to be time we called in Mrs Smother for a _serious _discussion!"

"Be delighted, Rosie." Vimes said. "I'll put the word out and get the Particulars onto it. I recall a woman of that name in Borogravia a year or two back, at Kneck?"

"The same, Sir Samuel." Rosie said, decisively. "Do you know, Dotsie and Sadie have accumulated quite a lot of leave. I think I shall suggest the idea of an expenses-paid holiday in Überwald to them. They'd like it, I think!"

"Capital." said Vetinari. "Mrs Palm, if you wish to suggest such a relaxing working holiday to the Aunts, I may have need of reliable undercover people, who might also investigate the Uberwaldean situation for me? After all, if the renegade Clowns who have taken that city over are paranoid and suspicious concerning discovery of their activities, they might well overlook a legitimate visit for Guild reasons undertaken by Seamstresses' Guild personnel and see no deeper meaning to it. If I were to send Watchmen or Assassins, this would provoke alarm. A bonus would be paid, naturally."

"I will issue instructions, my Lord". Rosie Palm said.

Lord Rust, who had forced his way in by virtue of a sense of entitlement to be present at such a City meeting, broke his silence. Lord Downey sighed. It had taken six strong Assassins to carry his wheelchair up to the conference room. The Assassins' Guild was not a building designed for disabled access.

"Donald, don't you have a man in Müning who reports back to you?" he asked, peremptorily. "Surely one of your graduates is savvy enough to see something's gone damn wrong?"

Erika restrained a snort of amusement. Behind her, Johanna made the universal face-palm gesture of _Oh, Gods. Not __**this **__again. _She had attempted to teach Hermann Wetterarscht.

Downey looked at her, surprised, but also seeking distraction.

"I am sorry, sir. I mean no offence. But we saw the local Assassin in Müning. Usually on his way to the Bierkellar. We found it so hard to take him seriously. I'm sorry. This is not meant as insult. But we joked maybe an Assassin who looked so like a clown was somehow _right_ for Müning".

Erika tailed off, red-faced with embarrassment. Johanna patted her shoulder. Erika sensed an uncharacteristic weariness to the gesture, out of place in such an otherwise energetic and capable woman. She looked around. Most of the senior teaching Assassins seated at the table were also looking suddenly tired and weary and far away, as if revisiting unpleasant memories.

"Herr Wetterarscht was at most only a _borderline_ candidate." Downey said, at length, choosing his words with great care. "Mindful of their pastoral duties and a certain responsibility of care, many of his teachers tried to steer him away from taking Black. But as he had not actually _flunked _any of his courses and his sponsors were still prepared to pay the school fees, we had no concrete reason not to accept him on the Black Path."

Downey reached for the water glass.

"To be honest, we were all surprised when he successfully completed his Final Run. We reasoned that this displayed strong, normally very well-concealed, reserves of character, and it would have been grossly unfair _not_ to allow him to graduate. This left the problem of what to do with him afterwards. To allow him to actually attempt to resolve an active contract might well have brought the Guild into disrepute."

"Made us a laughing stock." Monsieur de Balouard muttered, grimly.

"I concur." agreed Mr Mericet.

"Damn fool boy blew up my teaching kitchen." said Joan Sanderson-Reeves.

Downey continued, hurriedly:

"So the decision was made to offer him a salaried position in a remote, out of the way, posting where it was felt nothing would ever happen. We appointed him Chief Assassin in Müning. I do apologise."

"You have my sympathies." Lord Vetinari said. "I was placed in a similar dilemma concerning a member of the Diplomatic Service whose unguarded remarks provoked a note of complaint from the Paramount King of Matabeleland. It is true I was looking for a minor posting, with overtones of punishment and exile, in an out-of-the-way place where a liability could cause little harm. I was forced to recall him, and send him to somewhere even more remote than Howondaland."

"Oh, the Selachii boy!" Lord Rust brayed. "But surely Matabeleland's principal export IS that wretched Clacks scam, the Code 419?"

"Be that as it may, Lord Rust. There may have been a degree of truth in his assertion, but it was unwise to say it to the face of Prince Samuel himself!" **(4)**

Vetinari looked uncharacteristically shifty for a moment. Then he composed himself back to his usual inscrutability.

"But, dammit!" Rust erupted. "Vimes, don't _you_ have contacts there? Your watch has got people all over the place these days!"

Vimes glowered at Rust.

"Ronald, Muning is _way_ outside my jurisdiction!" he replied. "Police-general March - you remember him? He was on attachment here for a couple of months learning the ropes? He deploys his men as he sees fit. He decided Bad Blintz was getting too big for a couple of his men, so he moved them on to somewhere less demanding and more peaceful."

"Ja. I remember." Erika found herself saying. "Herr polizei-feldwebel Duppelpunkt and Herr polizei-gefreiter Knoppel. A pleasant funny fat old sergeant, but my father said he was no good at catching thieves."

Erika coloured, aware people were looking at her. "Well, Father _did_ say Frederick Duppelpunkt would not have recognised a crime even if it happened in front of his face…" she tailed off.

People were muttering.

"Duppel…. _Colon?" _somebody realised. "And.. Knobbly… gnarly… _Nobbs_?"

Vimes grimaced.

"Every force gets them. Eventually. It's as near to a law of policing as you get." he said.

Rust glared round the room for another target to fire at.

"Mustrum! Your people must have a presence in that damn town?" he demanded.

Mustrum Ridcully paused in mid-cake.

"Stibbons?" he requested. "You do the human resources stuff these days. Tell Ronnie what it's like, would you?"

Ponder Stibbons sighed. Fortunately he'd done some intelligent anticipation and looked up the relevant records.

"All we've got in Müning is Doctor Ernst von Frankelstahlm." he said. "He's ninety-seven years old, runs the town apothecary's, and in his spare time researches homunculus theory with the aid of an equally elderly Igor. We send him a student every so often to see practice, but to be honest they're generally the sort of students who try to draw a ceremonial triangle with three right angles and take two tries to find the end of the candle with the wick on it. Err…"

"Moving swiftly on." Vetinari decided. "Postmaster, nobody gets preferment in the Post Office unless they are good at their job? You practice the unprecedented personnel management skill of promoting on merit only?"

Moist von Lipwig caught the inference.

"That is so, sir." he said. "I have no direct control over the Überwald Post, but I understand Herr Postmeister Vogel to be extremely able. What gives me cause for concern is that Herr Vogel currently appears to be unavailable. If he were off sick or on holiday, there would be a deputy in position to answer routine queries. All we've had is a pretty curt "_business continues as normal and please ignore any rumours you may have heard as they are untrue_" signal. To me, that sounds as if somebody's protesting too much."

Vetinari nodded.

"And the clacks?"

"Appears to be functioning normally, sir." Moist said. "But then, if messages out of the city are being faked, they only need to do that from inside Müning itself. The men on the Towers wouldn't be aware, and they don't have the time or inclination to check. They just do what they do, which is to send them on quickly and accurately. Müning _is_ on the end of the line, after all."

Moist was stopped by another delegate, who whispered something to him.

"Sir, you know George here? Mr Pony, of the Artificers' Guild? A clacksman and my chief engineer?"

"Proceed, Mr Pony." Vetinari invited him.

"Sir, if I may. I've worked on the clacks ever since the beginning. Er."

Vetinari looked at him, silently and expectantly.

"Everyone who sends a Clacks and works on the equipment has what we call his _signature_, his unique way of coding and sending. You can tell who sent a message by his own little tricks, even something as subtle as the way he strikes an individual letter. Our lads on the towers are so good at relaying that you can even tell who originated a message after it's been down a whole trunk. It's a party game among clacksmen."

"Your parties must be an utter riot, then." somebody said. Vetinari impatiently motioned for silence.

"What I'm saying, sir, is that if somebody in Müning is faking and falsifying clacks messages, we can compare the messages we're getting _now _against copies of messages retained from before all this blew up. So we can tell you if people out there are playing silly buggers with the clacks system. Err.. Lord Downey, sir, I don't want to pry, but if you've got copies of messages you know for sure came from your lad there, we can compare them to the messages you're getting _now_, and we can tell you if anyone's just _pretending_ to be him. It'll show. You people have your own sub-towers on rental, that feed into the trunk? And they're all standard pattern? "

"Even encoded messages?" Downey said, interested.

"Even coded messages." George Pony said, emphatically. "In fact, code makes it _easier_. If somebody's using a codebook they're not familiar with, there'll be hesitation, little errors, mis-striking of keys. It will show. Trust me." **(5)**

"Mr Pony, please remain for a few moments at the end of this meeting? I will make arrangements." Downey said.

Vetinari nodded appreciation.

"Please keep me informed, Mr Pony, Lord Downey. I can foresee useful applications for this intriguing party game of yours!" he said. Then he asked, seemingly ingenuously: "And an agent's pattern of transmission might also be faked to near perfection, by a suitably capable operator?"

Pony looked shocked.

"We can't do _that, _sir. It'd be interfering with the integrity of the Clacks!"

"Indeed, Mr Pony. That would be _unethical. _Thank you for the moral correction!"

There was a collective reflective pause.

Then Lady Sybil Ramkin stepped forward. She didn't _mean_ to sweep all before her. But, as Sam Vimes reflected, this was unavoidable.

"Havelock." she said. " Just a little point that I'm sure hasn't occurred to the gentlemen here. We have a young gel here who is currently on her own in a big city. She has been very useful to you and is currently, in the rather clinical language you people use, an _asset. _But who's going to look after this asset before she returns home to parents who are _worried stiff _about where she is? If it was young Sam who'd vanished like this, I'd be frantic! At the _very least _I'd want to know he was safe and being looked after! And it hasn't escaped my notice that earlier today, some specimen might have tried to _kill _her!"

Sybil was quivering with indignation.

"And I hope Sam's on the trail. But I'm offering to take her into _my_ care, at Ramkin Manor, if nobody's got any better ideas!"

"Lady Sybil, we _are_ currently in the Guild of Assassins." Vetinari reminded her. "Who have informally recognised a duty of care."

"Oh, I know _that_, Havelock." Sybil said, impatiently. "But if she's in danger of death, she can't go home. Obviously we should get a message to her parents and explain where she is and that she's being cared for. But she's not a pupil at this school. I know she wants to train with the Clowns, but their girls are going to be targets from these people. So she can't go _there_ either. The Thieves' Guild School have offered, but they don't take boarders. She needs a family to take her in, and I'm proposing _mine_!"

"Well, yes, but will she be _safe_?" Mr Boggis asked, unwisely as it turned out.

Sybil gave him a full-force Ramkin glare. Her forebears had used it to intimidate Klatchian tribal fanatics, Zulu warriors, Boor irregulars, Zlobenian Cossacks, armed Hergenian insurgents, and other enemies of Ankh-Morpork. Who had all backed down and blinked first. Boggis had no chance.

"Mr Boggis." Sybil said, coldly. "May I remind you that there was an attempt on MY life, and that of my son, from Dwarvish Assassins who came up through the ground. Their own preferred method of fighting. They were defeated in some detail. There was a large Guild of Assassins contract on my husband. EVERY Assassin who was foolish enough to accept the contract was dealt with. And Sam is currently here and breathing inside, and will shortly walk out alive from, their own headquarters. Sam has his arrangement with Miss Band. Every student she has sent him, for her own corrective purposes, has been detected and chastened. Of _course_ Ramkin Manor is safe and well defended! In fact, if the killers come for her again, this makes it somewhat easier for us, don't you think? I shall ensure Willikins is briefed _thoroughly_!"

There was a silence.

Johanna Smith-Rhodes leant down to Erika.

"Lady Sybil hes made a very kind offer." she said. "I can essure you you will be welcomed end treated with kindness end generosity. You will elso be guarded. Do you wish to go? This will be edvantageous to everybody, I think!"

Erika nodded.

"I have a baby brother at home." she said. "In return for your kindness, I could be allowed to look after your little boy? I would like that."

Sybil beamed.

"Jolly good!" she said. "Well, that's all sorted, then!" She opened her arms wide. Erika rushed to her. It was _nice_ to have a big motherly hug.

"Lady Sybil, could I offer the services of an additional bodyguard?" Lord Downey asked, with seeming innocence. "Pro bono? After all, this Guild does have an interest!"

"Donald, if you think for one minute I'm going to allow you to let one of your people into _my_ house…" Sam Vimes said. Downey smiled genially at him.

"I propose Miss Wiggs." he said.

"Oh, _Jocasta?" _said Sybil. "Good choice, Donald! She's damn good with the dragons, for one thing!"

Sam Vimes grimaced. _Damn_ Downey. He knew Sam had a soft spot for Jocasta Wiggs. And so did Sybil. He gave in.

"Well… _this_ time, she's invited." he grunted. "So I can spare her a dunking in the dunnikin."

"So it's agreed, then. Our young asset becomes a house-guest at Ramkin Manor. Lady Sybil assumes the role of legal guardian. A pro-bono bodyguard, Miss Jocasta Wiggs, is provided by the Guild of Assassins, in addition to such informal security as the Duke of Ankh and his manservant can provide. Note it for the record, please, Drumknott." Vetinari said, genially.

"Now, the next item. What is the current condition of the Guild of Thieves member who was wounded by assailants this morning?"

"Stable and recovering, my lord." said Joan Sanderson-Reeves. "Matron Igorina did some jolly clever things, including safely replacing some of the blood she had lost. In fact, I've instructed students to volunteer for the basic testing to make sure their blood is suitable for transfusion. The way I see it, if five or six students donate a pint each, young miss Gibbett will have had all her lost blood replaced, and be fit for action sooner!"

Vetinari nodded.

"And I believe Miss Band has accepted a contract on the killers. Commander Vimes, please ensure the Watch gets to question them _first_? If this is at all practicable. I will in these circumstances allow the Guild of Assassins to ensue justice is carried out, as the attempted killing happened on Guild premises."

"Only just, though." Sam Vimes muttered, unhappy.

"The Guild has the _right_, sir Samuel." Vetinari reminded him. "Miss Band has been requested to delay completion until at least one of the offenders can be questioned. City law and precedent is clear on this. The offence was against the Guild of Assassins within its own Gates. The offence was also against a member in very good standing with the Guild of Thieves, who have put up a large part of the contract fee. As is their right. But as is _my_ right, with a clear City interest, I wish for information to be extracted first from one or more of the offenders. Who are in every applicable sense, now dead men walking. If the Watch finds them first, Sir Samuel, you are required by City law to turn them over to Guild justice. That is non-negotiable. And so far, you have a good working relationship with Miss Band based on mutual respect. I advise you not to prejudice this. That is _all_."

Vetinari stood up.

"I will speak to several of you individually regarding further action to be taken. Miss Morgendorffer Minor, please remain, as I would appreciate a chance to talk to you further, away from the rather intimidating nature of a meeting such as this? And let me say, I find you a remarkable young lady of great personal character. Miss Smith-Rhodes, please act as her chaperone? I have a feeling you will find our continued conversation to be of professional interest. Is there any other business? Doctor Whiteface?"

The Head Clown stood up.

"If I may ask for it to be stated for the record? Neither I nor the Guild had any part in the attack on miss Gibbett. I will happily add to the contract fee for justice to be brought to her attackers. I have instructed Captain Clapstick and the Jolly Good Pals to join in the search for her attackers, and I will give every assistance to Commander Vimes, and others, engaged in the hunt. If the offenders were Guild members, there will be no mercy and we will not stand in the way of, nor obstruct, miss Band in the completion of her contract."

"Nobody thinks you did, Jeremiah." Mr Boggis said, seeking to soothe.

"Indeed." added Lord Downey. "You have my continued friendship, Jeremiah. I wonder if this was some cynical ploy to drive division and suspicion between our Guilds, at a time when we clearly need to show a united front."

"Thank you, gentlemen." Doctor Whiteface said. He turned to Erika.

"If at any point you wish to resume your studies here, with my Guild, please ask and I will make the necessary arrangements. As we know nothing of you, it would be useful to arrange an audition. You can demonstrate your skills. I'm sure you will not be wasting our time."

"Thank you, Herr Doctor." Erika said, excited at having won what she wanted.

Whiteface acknowledged her with a nod.

There was a harrumph from the corner of the room. Downey frowned.

"Miss Sanderson-Reeves? Be so kind as to organise some strong male students to convey Lord Rust down the stairs, if you would?"

"I'll shout up a few boys who've been a little bit _slack_ lately, my lord." she said. "Physical exercise, combined with being respectful to their elders. Does them wonders!"

The room gradually thinned out. Lord Rust was heard in the distance, berating the sweating students attempting to get his wheelchair down the stairs without spilling anything. As Discworld wheelchair technology was akin to building the sort of chariot which has spikes on the hubcaps, this took time.

Mustrum Ridcully was keen to get back to the University for lunch; he was one of the first out, bellowing to Stibbons to follow.

Soon, only Vetinari, Drumknott, Downey, Johanna, Dariella and Erika were left.

Vetinari steepled his fingers.

"You brought our other guests, as agreed? Capital. I'm glad they kept silence throughout."

Erika emptied her pockets. Dubbin and Cherry Blossom scampered out on the tabletop. Behind the table, Drumknott took the covering cloths off a couple of cages.

"Now tell me about Bad Blintz and the political accord there." Vetinari requested. "Lady Margalotta has sent me despatches, but regrettably, she does not _quite_ seem to believe what her people there tell her!"

Vetinari listened to the rats for some time, asking only occasional questions.

"Most enlightening." he said, at length. "And your father, Darktan, is the current Clan leader and is highly regarded by both Rats and humans. He has sent you here as missionaries, to contact other rats who may have become sentient?"

"That is so, sir." said Cherry Blossom.

"And we heard you employ rats, sir." said Dubbin. "But only the more intelligent _keekee_."

"That is what I like people to believe." Vetinari said. "Drumknott?"

His secretary brought a cage up to the tabletop. He opened it.

"Hello." said a sleek black rat, shyly. "I'm Sheersilk. These are my sisters, Sixty Denier and Fishnet."

Dubbin was lost for words.

"We work for Lord Vetinari." Fishnet added.

"You must be the Older Ones, who our legend tells us domesticated a cat, formerly a great killer of the People, and made him do your bidding?" Sixty Denier added.

"We've come a long way to find you." Cherry Blossom whispered, caught in the awe of the moment.

Vetinari smiled, thinly.

"If you wish to enter my service, I may have a task for you. " he said. "No compulsion. Also, no great rush."

* * *

**(1) **Forewarned of the presence of wizards, the Guild's catering manager had quadrupled the usual serving of biscuits and light cakes.

**(2) **One Assassin in particular. And she'd just walked in.

**(3) **Both the same person.

**(4)** Here on Roundworld, it has been noted that the Internet scam in which an African gentleman emails you out of the blue and asks your assistance in illegally exporting a million or so dollars, which will rest in your bank account for a day or two and then move silently on, less ten per cent for your troubles, is most prevalent in the West African state of Nigeria. So much so that the Nigerians named it the Code 419 criminal offence. Even other Africans - not just the white ones - will warn you Nigeria is a land populated by lawless criminals and scam artists. On the Discworld, you get a clacks message asking if the disgraced tribal finance chief can have the use of your bank account for a day or two to launder cash, please send your account details by return of clacks.

**(5) **During WW2, this was a standard counter-espionage technique for evaluating whether or not an agent's messages could be trusted: experts checked morse transmissions to evaluate whether they corresponded to the agent's known "signature" pattern of striking keys while transmitting. Anything out of the pattern strongly suggested an agent's codes had been compromised. And of course wily spymasters realised an agent's personal signature could be faked so as to disseminate false information...


End file.
